Contrary: the 90th Hunger Games
by nevergone4ever
Summary: "We don't have to if we don't want to." This arena is designed to mess with their minds- to prove to them that, for once, what they are so familiar with may not be an advantage. Welcome to the 90th Hunger Games!
1. Wake Up Pt One

_**Welcome to the nightmare; a state of complacency.**_

**Quinn Farlowe- Vice President- 47 years old**

_This is a nightmare_, my thoughts scream as I sort frantically through the papers. _This serves you right for taking on this job, Quinn._

"No," I mutter, clenching my teeth, "that's not true…"

No matter what thoughts have planted themselves in my head, they're not true. Never true. I know for a fact that taking on this job was my destiny; it has to be. Juliet didn't come right out and say what she was thinking, but if she did, I'm sure she'd have said that I was the right person for this job.

"Quinn?" a small, mousy-haired woman with brightly colored spectacles peers inside my room. "Er— Mrs. Farlowe?"

"You can call me Quinn, Amelia." I smile. "We've known each other for long enough." I know she's just calling me Mrs. Farlowe to humor me— she honestly has known me since she herself was just seventeen, an apprentice.

She replies with a soft smile of her own, scampering to my desk. "Brought your coffee. Need a pick-me-up, Quinn?"

"More than anything," I mutter, sipping gratefully from the thin white cup. "Tulip brought the arena plans over this morning, but I seem to have misplaced the sheet of muttations."

"Arena plans!" Amelia squeaks, her eyes widening. "So late? It's almost a month before the Games!"

I bare my teeth grimly in the form of some sort of twisted grin. "Tulip has never been good on dates, has she?"

"Tell me about it. Last year, didn't she forget to give you the plans for the right half of the arena until just a half week before the Games?" Amelia shakes her head. "I swear, Quinn, that woman's onto something. It's insane that I'm curious about what's going on inside her head."

"Don't blame yourself," I sigh heavily. "We all have, at some point of another. But hey… put yourself in her shoes, Amelia. Haven't you ever—"

A sudden noise at the far side of my office makes my heart skip a beat. Wide-eyed, I whip my head around to see Mrs. Snow, her fluffy blond hair swishing silently around her shoulders. Her pale eyes stare coldly at me.

"I do not appreciate you, of all people, talking about myself behind my back," she says quietly, her eyes unblinking.

"No!" I cry, hurrying to cover myself up. "I wasn't talking about you, Mrs. Snow, never! I was rather talking about Tulip Carbonne- Amelia and I were annoyed by her lack of professionalism, that's all. We were glad she gave us the arena plans on time."

Mrs. Snow's eyes flicker over cowering Amelia, who's shielding her eyes. Mrs. Snow sighs, her melodic tone breathy. "I have complete faith in my father's choices," she tells me. "I would never dare doubt his decisions. He chose Tulip Carbonne to be Head Gamemaker, and I trust him fully. I'd ask you to do the same, Mrs. Farlowe."

Instead of standing up to her, something inside of me weakens, and I shrink under her calculating stare. "I'm sorry," I say shakily. "I…. It was silly of me to judge her so quickly, Mrs. Snow. It's my second year of being a vice president… I must ask you to forgive me."

Her pale eyes narrow, but she nods slowly. "I accept your apology, Mrs. Farlowe. Next time I ask you not to voice your opinions when you're yet unsure of them."

My cheeks heat up. She's basically telling me to censor my thoughts!

Mrs. Snow looks at Amelia, frowning slightly. "Did I authorize an assistant for you, Mrs. Farlowe?"

"Um, I don't believe so," I reply skittishly, "but you said I could hire a number of Avoxes, and one talking assistant wouldn't be as bad… she's getting paid and all that…" My blabbermouth is off again. I quickly shut my trap, glancing at Mrs. Snow for some sort of reaction. Nope, she's keeping that pokerface…

"Adorable," she says stiffly. "Though, Mrs. Farlowe, when I do not authorize something, that means _it is not allowed_."

I swallow dryly, really craving some vitamin-infused protein water or something right now. I could use a caffeine blast. "May I ask why?" I question timidly. I'm not too crazy at the thought of giving up loyal, sweet Amelia…

Mrs. Snow laughs forcedly, her tone uneven. "I'd thank you not to question my reasons. It would be very wise, indeed…"

I fiddle with a loose string on my sage green pea coat. "What should I do with her, then, Mrs. Snow?"

The blond woman casts her gaze to timid Amelia, who is visibly quivering. No doubt she's imagining images of herself being executed, hung, or even being turned into one of those wretched Avoxes…

"You may keep this one," Mrs. Snow says tiredly, "but any more, and I'll have their tongues sliced out and they will be forced to serve the tributes. Just one assistant is plenty for a woman of your ranking."

I can barely believe my ears. Instead of shaking her shoulders in joy and, I don't know, throwing a party or something, I remain calm and offer up a civilized smile. "Thank you so very much…"

"Mm." the president nods, her eyes flicking to Amelia once more before putting up her hand in a sort of blunt wave. "Come by my office tomorrow at nine, Mrs. Farlowe. We have much to discuss involving the arena. Tulip will be there as well."

"Will do, Mrs. Snow." I wave back, watching her retreating form silently slip out the door. Amelia bounds up from her spot near the glassy, opaque windows, beaming wildly.

"Wonderful news, isn't it?" she asks through an obvious smile. "I'm so glad that she allowed me to stay! I just couldn't _imagine_ working for anybody else, anywhere else, honestly…"

I'm quiet, nodding and humming every so often at her excited words. "It is rather sublime, isn't it?"

As Amelia prances around my office happily, I'm tangled in my own web of thoughts. The arena this year is more complex than ever… it rivals only a few of the past arenas. It's so amazing… and so twisted…

It's not wonder that Mrs. Snow had the idea first, then referred it over to Tulip.

"You know, I think I'll take the day off a bit early…" I mumbled, slipping on my cashmere scarf and pushing in my chair. "Just need a bit of rest, is all. Some time to myself, to think…"

Amelia's dancing stops short, and she quickly nods solemnly. "I understand, Quinn. Take all the time you need. If you want, I can call you tonight—"

"No, no, you're okay. I remember. Nine tomorrow morning at Mrs. Snow's office. I… I just need some time alone, Amelia. Thank you for the offer…"

Snatching up the manila folder containing the arena plans, I scurry out the door without a backward glance.

Once I'm at my comfortable, high-security apartment a few blocks away from my office, I find time to relax for once. Moving to the living room where I can watch over the glistening lights of the Capitol as the day draws to an end, I spread out the vast arena plans over the coffee table. From there, I grab a soft-leaded pencil and start sketching out my notes.

I'm so immersed in my work, the slightest of gasps shocks me.

"Mumma, this is amazing!"

I glance up, still half-weary, to see my beautiful four-year-old daughter, her mouth outstretched in a wide gasp. "Lookit that! So pretty!"

I smile, stifling a giggle. "I had a feeling you'd say that, Dia. This arena is designed… well, for now it's a secret, but I think you can piece together some of what it is!"

Dia moves around the table, murmuring things to herself as her huge brown eyes gaze over the miniscule landmarks. "Can I watch the Hunger Games this year, Mumma?"

I purse my lips, thinking. "Maybe… or how about I record them and you watch them in a couple years?"

Dia's bottom lip trembles. "But Mumma… I wanna see this 'rena!"

"I know you do, darling, but you're still too young—"

Dia offers me a hideous scowl before running out of the room, sniffling. I sigh, watching her small body dart down the hallway. I wish I could show Dia the Games this year—they're going to be amazing for sure. But I'm still afraid that the bloodshed and the killing will mar her…

Clutching my pencil, I go back to marking my own notes down, shaking my head and nodding on occasion.

_This arena is designed to mess with their minds— to prove to them that, for once, what they are so familiar with may not be an advantage._

**A/N: Wake Up by Colton Dixon.**

**And so begins the 90****th**** Hunger Games—Contrary! I gave you a couple hints on the arena… nothing big too far, but hopefully, **_**maybe**_** you can piece some of it together. **

**As always, the tribute form is on my profile! I'll accept PM's only, but other than that, anybody can submit, and I'd love if you were detailed. Thanks again, and- oh- a review wouldn't hurt, either. ;)**


	2. Wake Up Pt Two

_**Chains will be broken, the dead will rise. This is the moment we are alive.**_

**Tulip Carbonne, 49, Head Gamemaker of the 90****th**** Hunger Games**

"Can I get you anything? Water? Fruit juice? Any other drink? I can fetch a specialty drink for you if you'd like, Mrs. Carbonne."

I force a smile, offering a supportive thumbs-up to the talkative assistant. "No thank you… Amelia, is it?"

"Correct!" cheers the mousy-haired woman, her small brown eyes squinted with sheer joy. "You actually got my name! That is just amazing!"

I stare at the floor. I did not sign up to babysit a hyper forty-year-old in the middle of a mid-life crisis, I am here to discuss the arena with Quinn and Violette. Why is there some squeaky, peppy assistant here? Why is she not an Avox? Why hasn't she been _made_ _into_ an Avox yet?

Amelia catches onto my disinterested frown right away. Surprising, she can't take any other hints. "Mrs. Carbonne? Are you sure about that water?"

I raise my paper cup. "I got a coffee on the way in, thanks."

I take a small sip of the coffee, its bitter taste leaving a sour imprint in my mouth. Setting it down on the wooden side table, I shuffle through the vast arena plans, eyes flickering proudly over the things I've spent so long creating. This year, I took a sort of spin-off of what the tributes will remember so, so clearly…

And I'll twist it.

This arena will be horrific, yet a true work of art. One such thing can only be dreamed up by such a brilliant mind such as mine; therefore, I have decided to hire only the best team this year to build the arena.

Speaking of team…

I pout, glancing at my ruby-encrusted watch. From my calculations, both of the presidents are seven minutes late. I can't stand for this. I have a meeting with the head of muttations in just three hours after the second meeting, plus I have to fetch lunch, and _somewhere_ in there I need to schedule a foot massage for my tired, _tired_ piggies…

The door opens with a soft squeak, and my eyes stare right into the doe-like ones of the vice president, Quinn Farlowe. She offers me a toothy grin, to which I reply with a tight-lipped smile. "You're late, Mrs. Farlowe."

"Please," she says like we're good chums, "call me Quinn."

"All right… _Quinn_." I narrow my eyes. "Care to explain why you are so behind on time? Punctuality is very important for me, you know. And where is that president?"

As if on cue, the president herself enters the room, olive green heels clicking importantly on the white tiles. She looks at me with a sort of amused, sadistic smirk. "Tulip, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Ah, Violette." I smile right back, this time offering a glimpse of my pearly whites. I can feel Quinn's eyes boring into me as Violette offers me a simple handshake. I wouldn't be surprised if _she_ never got a handshake.

"May we call this meeting to order?" she asks hopefully, as if to redeem herself.

Violette purses her lips. "Actually, Mrs. Farlowe, I would appreciate if you told that speaking servant of yours—the authorized one—to fetch me a sparkling water. Lime. A few ice cubes."

"Certainly." Quinn jumps at the chance to please Violette, and I stifle a laugh. She doesn't earn respect by doing errands for her. The poor woman wants to get on Violette's good side so badly that she'll even tell a servant to get somebody else's drink. Funny, I find that _utterly_ fascinating.

The timid, jumpy woman arrives with Violette's water in a slim glass, and I tilt my head. "Shall we get started, then?"

"Of course," Violette nods, pressing the frosty glass to her pale lips. "Tulip, can you spread out the Cornucopia plan?"

I reply with a slight tilt of my head, already unrolling the sheet and pinning it up on the corkboard. Violette stares at it with a sort of amused curiosity. Quinn gasps softly, her eyes greedily scanning the whole thing. And behind Violette, the servant drops a jug of water.

"What is this, exactly?" Quinn asks in a sort of strangled tone.

I murmur out the details, making sure to emphasize certain points with an incline of my voice, and I also take care to play up the arena's finest features with a dramatic waver of my tone. By the end of my speech, Quinn is gaping at the Cornucopia alone, and Violette's smirk is the size of District Seven.

"This truly is spectacular," Violette drawls. "I never really have seen an arena with this concept, and I do enjoy how you've stepped out of the box to define such delicate points."

"Yes," Quinn cuts in, her brow furrowing. I nearly snort— she is so unprofessional. "And… the Cornucopia concept, too."

I smile modestly. "I do appreciate your praise," I murmur. "And I thank you both for your feedback. I'll be taking my muttation ideas to Mr. Chimes, of course—"

"About Mr. Chimes," Violette clears her throat, standing up in the chair. I tilt my head. Is the man dead?

"I was forced to fire him," the president announces with dead eyes. "Turns out he was harboring rebel plans. In the end, I and a small group of closely trusted women took him, tried him, and found him guilty of plotting against us all. Using a lie detector test, we discovered that he's a native of District Six. A stowaway. He hopped on a train to the Capitol and built his way up from there." Violette frowns. "You never should have trusted him, Tulip."

This is unfair. I never even hired him.

"We've had him for four years," Quinn whispers, her eyes widened in sheer shock. "Would he really do such a thing?"

As Violette answers, the cogs in my brain slowly start cranking out a tuneless rhythm. It just doesn't add up. How would Violette know to inspect him? What was he doing wrong that she had to try him for?

As if she can hear my thoughts, the president whips her head back to me, a tendril of hair landing stylishly just over her eye. "It would be wise not to question me," she remarks haughtily, strolling across the room to the gargantuan picture window. "I've hired in his place somebody new. Once we have the actual arena meeting, with everybody involved, you'll get to meet them."

Quinn is quick to stutter. "Actual arena m-meeting? What do you mean, Mrs. Snow?"

I can't help but allow a laugh to bubble up, deep within my throat. "A meeting with, like she said, the most important people that are involved in these Games. The head of muttations, who I'm not quite sure is at the moment, the head of landscaping, the head of social interactions… Basically, the heads of everything."

Violette gives a miniscule nod. Her back is turned to me, so I don't even know if it's a nod or simply a slight ruffle of her hair in the breeze, but I take it as one. "We'll be meeting in just an hour. You haven't heard of this, Quinn?"

The timid servant squeaks, rushing over to the vice president. "Qu- Mrs. Farlowe, I f-forgot to tell you about this…"

Quinn's nostrils flare, but she sifts a hand through her soft red hair, calming herself down. "One of the most important meetings of the year, Amelia, and you forget to tell me?" She breathes heavily, a complete change from the skittish woman she was a moment ago. "This is just unacceptable!"

"Sorry," whispers the servant.

"No, it really isn't…" Quinn clenches her hands, her eyes squinted to slits. I'd look away as it is socially acceptable, but I'm so amused at the moment.

"Quinn! Tulip!"

We whirl around to the sharp sound of Violette's voice. She stares at both of us stonily. "This is very unprofessional of you, Quinn. When I hired you, I expected you to do my orders as a _vice_ president. I was very kind in allowing that… _help_ in."

"I can—"

"No, I don't need you to explain." Violette folds her hands over her waist, basically hugging herself. "I'd like that servant to be turned into an Avox immediately. No exceptions. I myself will find you a new servant."

"What?" chokes the brunette assistant.

In response, Violette simply sneers. "That is right," she says, and with that, she exits, calling out lightly, "Remember, one hour."

**A/N: Wake Up by Colton Dixon.**

_**- contraryhungergames . blogspot . com - theirvictories . blogspot . com -**_

**First off, before I say anything else, I'd really like to apologize to the submitters whose tributes were not accepted. I really did like every tribute in a certain way, but worst came to worst and I was only allowed to accept twenty-four. And for that, I apologize. A lot. And I'd also like to thank LokiThisIsMadness for helping me out with my victor's blog. It helped me so much, took a load off my back. :)**

**Remember to follow and review!**

**Onto the happier news…**

**One of these tributes will be Panem's newest victor! ^-^ Congrats to everybody who got in! **

_**District One. Luxury.**_

Female- Carisa Lenette, 18

Male- Soren Valen, 18

_**District Two. Masonry.**_

Female- Eidra Nevett, 18

Male- Wraith Elvery, 18

_**District Three. Technology.**_

Female- Ellika "Ell" Mayes, 17

Male- Griff Forden, 14

_**District Four. Fishing.**_

Female- Juno Verdet, 18

Male- Meritt Cordeau, 18

_**District Five. Power.**_

Female- Maya Verone, 16

Male- Ezra Jefferson, 16

_**District Six. Transportation.**_

Female- Aria Verselis, 14

Male- Halcyon Chae, 16

_**District Seven. Lumber.**_

Female- Aspen Northwood, 18

Male- Brux Redragon, 16

_**District Eight. Textiles.**_

Female- Cayley Torreli, 17

Male- Tethys Acosta, 14

_**District Nine. Grain.**_

Female- Maysa Barric, 18

Male- Braxton Malory, 15

_**District Ten. Livestock.**_

Female- Shael Havern, 17

Male- Cade Bennett, 13

_**District Eleven. Agriculture.**_

Female- Kiera Brennan, 16

Male- Cole Tenacity, 16

_**District Twelve. Coal.**_

Female- Haven Faye, 15

Male- Kinton Machek, 16

**So, yeah. Questions.**

**1. What are your detailed, honest thoughts on each tribute's blog blip? **

**2. Early favorites? Loathes? Neutrals? Charts are cool :)**

**3. How was my writing?**


	3. Like Yesterday

_**The roar of youth becomes a whisper with age.**_

**Teal Arben, District One, Victor of the 89****th**** Hunger Games**

Sheen smiles sluggishly as she slurps down yet another pumpkin-colored drink. She's had about five now, and she shows no signs of stopping. Very unprofessional.

"Sheen," I mumble. "You're going to get…"

"Shh," she giggles, thrusting her index finger to my lips in a vain attempt to keep me quiet. "What you don't know can't hurt you, Teal!"

It's only my first year as mentoring, but I'm going to take this seriously. Sheen may have helped me out so, so much last year, but half the time she was the worse for wear, a bottle attached to her hand. It doesn't matter that the sponsor gift rained down at the best time; I'm actually pretty sure that it was Taffeta, Scottie's mentor, that sent it.

Sheen tells me that victors have very different ways of dealing with the pain of becoming a victor. For her, drinks are her way of escaping everything. Taffeta, she says, is lucky enough that she can stand on her own without the help of drinks, morphling, or anything else.

She says it helps with the nightmares.

Me, I think that's rather idiotic. How can something as gross as alcohol help you out with 'nightmares', of all things? I don't experience them at all. Well, that would be lying if I said that, come to think of it. I had one, the night I was announced as a victor. I couldn't help but see that bloodied, beaten-down look on Tetra's face as she slowly slid into the veil of death.

Sheen's always told me that I was just the stereotypical, brutish male who wins without a second thought. She says that they win almost all the time. Take Velour, or Sans, for example, she says.

But inwardly, I know that's _not_ true. I won't be described with just one word— "brutish."

I mean, I know that I don't, like, defy every Career stereotype that there is. But to be honest, I think that I'm just a bit more than the average one. Taffeta, Sheen, Velour, and Dae, they're all so flippant and frankly, somewhat annoying. I hope that I break that stereotype… to some extent, at least.

Without uttering a word to Sheen, I walk out silently to the set of chairs that wait for me on the stage. I grin wildly as I see the crowds, the huge sea of kids that I was in only last year. A couple girls wave flirtatiously to me, and eagerly I respond in like.

Our escort, Musica, floats out on a bed of silver taffeta and bright pink lipstick. What is she supposed to be this year, some sort of alien?

Sheen plops down on the seat next to me, fingers fiddling with her silver flask. Seizing advantage of the one time that her lips aren't practically glued to it, I quickly ask, "So, how do we decide what tributes we want to mentor? Do we get to pick or something?"

Sheen burps unattractively, her eyes flickering between cross-eyedness and regularity. "Um, you can pick if you want," she mutters. "I'll take the runt again. You have the list? Yes? Cool."

I sit back in my chair, basking in the knowledge that I can have the tribute with the better advantage, before I rapidly realize that _I_ was the tribute she mentored last year. She thought I was the runt?! "Hey!"

Sheen only smirks.

I finger the tribute list carefully, eyes flickering over the small slip of paper. Carisa Lenette and Flash Centillion. Both very well-trained tributes, both brutal and ready to get their hands dirty. Perfect.

"Welcome!" shrieks out Musica, thrusting her hand, decked out in bangles, up into the air. "District One, are you ready?"

Most kids stare back at her blankly, but a select few cheer along with her, already pumped up for this year.

"I'll start with the girls, then, as is tradition!" Musica giggles, her talons digging into the giant glass bowl when a howl pierces the air.

"I volunteer!"

Sure enough, Carisa Lenette emerges from the eighteen-year-old section. She's clad in a rather skimpy burgundy dress, but I'm sure not complaining. She tosses her voluptuous brunette hair back with a flick of her head, flashing her pearly whites at everybody around her. She very quickly darts over the sidelines of the eighteen-year-old sector, locks lips with some guy, before treading up. Once she mounts the stage, she announces her name with a musical tone.

Musica beams, strutting over to the male's bowl, when another shriek erupts. But this one isn't Flash's voice…

"_I VOLUNTEER! I VOLUNTEER! I FRIGGING VOLUNTEER, ALL RIGHT?!"_

"No!" Carisa shrieks, her eyes humongous, as she sees who the new tribute is— a lanky boy with sandy-colored hair, definitely not the tanned Flash. "You… you _can't_! Can you _please_ pick another person? Please? I can't work with him!"

I stand up unconsciously, staring disgustedly at the boy that was not supposed to volunteer, as he tussles with the very same guy that Carisa had just kissed. They roll around on the ground for a moment before Naughty-Boy overpowers him with a strong kick, mounting the stage with little damage done.

Musica frowns, her coral lips turning downward. "Sorry, honey. Your name, boy?"

He grins at Carisa somewhat greedily before voicing, "Soren Valen, at your service."

"I'll take Soren," I murmur to Sheen, who's gulping down the remainder of her flask. "Seems a bit less aloof, to me."

"Joke's on you," smirks Sheen. "The ones who yell are the ones who wind up at the final five."

**Hestia Verbana, District Two, Victor of the 80****th**** Hunger Games**

Helios sighs heavily with each step that our escort, Madre, takes. Plop. _Sigh_. Plop. _Sigh_.

"Would you stop that?" I grumble. "Rather annoying, don't you think?"

He squints at me through the beaming yellow sun. "Guess so," he murmurs.

"_Thank_ you," I exhale, settling back into my seat and smoothing my ruffled navy dress down. The roles really are switched this year; last year, it was Helios who was the parental figure for the tributes, and he was very professional besides. Last year I was the wilder mentor, the one who laughed off anything they said negatively and offered them unhelpful tips. I don't know, perhaps this year is different since I became a mother.

This also was the first year that Helios had to go without his son. Untrue to his name, Viktor volunteered last year under the impression that he was better than all the rest. His arrogance led to his ultimately bloody death at the hands of his own ally, who soon became victor— Teal Arben, District One.

I wiggle into my seat, arms feeling a bit lighter now that the weight of a baby has been lifted off of them. Sandria is going to grow up to be just a regular kid, I'm making sure of that. All talks of volunteering will be thrown out the window. I paid the price, now I should get to have a normal, happy life just like all the rest of the victors.

"Welcome, welcome, to this year's Reaping- or should I say, Volunteering!" Madre smiles sickly, allowing the masses of kids to stare at her deadly. "Wonderful. Anyways…" she struts over to the male's bowl, plucking out a random slip, but before she can even say a word, up comes the boy.

Wraith Elvery. I've worked with him for nearly a year now, scanning over techniques that are formidable for his stocky form. Despite his low stamina, his skills in weaponry are just amazing. His appearance, paler and somewhat more muscular than the common District Two male, is nothing.

"You didn't say the magical words." Madre tilts her head at Wraith, teasing him.

Wraith shrugs, using his hand to sweep a lock of dark brown hair out of his eyes. "Okay. I volunteer, then."

The man of few words. I smirk.

Madre doesn't even have time to flash a witty flirtatious line at him before the female ascends the stairs, her chestnut hair and captivating eyes creating the picture of a perfect Career.

I shake Helios's arm gently. "Helios, it's yours!"

He smiles grimly.

"Eidra Nevett!" she announces in a whimsical tone, winking at Wraith, who looks indifferent. "Your female."

"She's great, isn't she?" Helios murmurs. "So… so vivacious and spirited. Gotta love her." I smile at his toned-down enthusiasm. Even muted praise is the ultimate praise for Helios nowadays.

Eidra catches my eye and gives me a curt wave. Wraith, on the other hand, stares out into the crowd like he's sure he's done the wrong thing.

Helios flicks his head, tossing some sleek black hair askew. "You know what, Hestia?" he mumbles. "I think we might just have a victor on our hands this year. But you never know, right?..."

"Not really, no," I reply.

If Helios is getting back on track, that's all that matters. And if Eidra somehow manages to help him back onto his feet, I myself will personally praise her for as long as her life allows.

**Candor Kruise, District Three, Victor of the 78****th**** Hunger Games**

Brushing down my cowlick, I turn to Xandra, who simply smirks. "Missed it, hotshot," she murmurs, dutifully patting it down for me.

Some might think it's a bit odd and off-putting that, at twenty, Xandra's romantically interested in me, a thirty-eight year old. I see no problem, though I'm not attracted to her. Poor girl will have to figure that out sometime.

But as long as our mentoring runs smoothly, I just won't tell her.

"Such a shame that our escort's too bigoted to see how amazing we're going to do as mentors," Xandra purrs, nearly throwing herself into my lap. "He doesn't have faith in us, Candor."

I moisten my lips and shrug. "A shame, all right. Maybe if Ping saw with his own two eyes and not those glass ones that he insisted on wearing."

"Those are glass eyes?" Xandra considers this before throwing her head back and laughing, her finger tracing a circle onto my hand— or is it a heart? "No wonder he stumbles every year. I'm surprised he can even read the slip of paper."

"Ah, then they must not be glass, then." Grateful for the slight moment of relief that hating on Ping gives me, I try to slip away. I don't want to be Xandra's lover, can't she see that?

Obviously not. She simply grabs onto the edge of my sweater and giggles mischievously. "Where are you going, Cand?" she asks, the edges of her mouth curving up.

"Um, j-just to fetch a drink," I stammer out.

Xandra raises a dark eyebrow, and I feel nauseous. "Make sure to…. _Fetch_ me one, too." She winks.

Extremely grateful for the distraction, I slip away to the coolers out inside the Justice Building and snag a water from one. Water's good. Water always helps me clear my mind to think. I take a long sip, considering this year and the tributes it will be soon to bring.

I've told Xandra that she can have the more aggressive tribute with the higher odds of winning, because I won my Games out of sheer luck, while she won with weaponry skills and strategy. She completely broke the District Three mold of being nerdy and timid, by being brazen and flippant with wicked talents concerning a crossbow. I was so proud of her. It was like an invention I created, a monster that came to life. Sort of like that fable, Jackenstein or something like that.

Xandra pokes her head out the door. "Hurry, Candor, Ping is just about to announce the female tribute!"

My heart flutters with hope. I grab another water bottle for my fellow mentor and I scamper out, hoping for a decent set of tributes this year.

Ping, the escort with fiery red hair and a black and white suit, clears his throat just as I plop down, handing Xandra the bottle. She giggles and she might have said 'thank you' but I didn't hear her.

"Ellika Mayes!"

There's a slight gasp from a section near me. I search for the cause of it, and my eyes land upon a fiery-haired girl. Her entire appearance is put-together, creating the image of a strong, capable tribute. She mounts the stage with her face void of much emotion, but I can tell that she's on the verge of shouting. Ellika's biting her lip with such force that when she stops biting it, there are visible teeth marks. I cringe. Ouch.

"Anything to say, Ellika?" Ping crams the microphone underneath her chin, but Ellika shakes her head defiantly, nose even turning up at the thought.

"You can call me 'Ell'," she hisses out.

Ping's face spreads into a wide, fuzzy grin as he glances at the girl. "Wonderful!" he proclaims, strolling across the stage to the male's. He grabs a slip off the top, glances at it once, and shouts out, "Griff Forden!"

My eyes fall upon an isolated boy, about fourteen, whom kids are moving away from like he has a terrible disease. Griff turns his small head tiredly, observing this, before mouthing his name and quietly climbing the stairs to the escort, his face contorted in sheer shock. I don't even think he knows what's happening to him anymore.

"Anybody you like in particular?" I say absentmindedly, watching the little boy hop the stairs up onto the stage. I have a feeling I know the answer.

Sure enough, Xandra's lips peel into a toothy grin. "I want Ellika," she replies. "Seems tougher than the boy, on any rate."

I sigh thickly, nodding slowly. "You're right, you know."

"Of course I am."

**Nuke Greensburo, District Four, Victor of the 82****nd**** Hunger Games**

"We going the same gender, like last year?"

Annie looks up at me, her lips parted slightly. With a short nod, she flips her hair once more, a mask of copper over her soft eyes.

It's like this every single year. Same old song and dance. I ask her who she wants, she doesn't reply, and then I ask her if we should go the same gender, and there's a nod. But once the tributes are announced, Annie's mumbling that she'd like the boy instead. _Every. Single. Year._

Maybe this year will be different? Fat chance.

Instead of chatting it up with my next-to-silent fellow mentor, I strike up a conversation with the escort, Sequin, but she's not one to be tampered with at all. If I even try to flirt with her, she'll screech. _So_ predictable.

And I have no doubts that this year will be the same.

As I'm dictating this to Sequin, her incredibly long golden eyelashes fluttering, she suddenly gives a funny hop, and her face falls, like she's hurt. Confused, I ask her what's up.

"Nothing," she says, giggling a bit. "Pregnancy pains."

My eyebrows fly up to meet my hairline. "Really? Awesome, Sequin! How far along are you?"

"Two months. It's so amazing when I feel him- or her- kick." Sequin muffles another giggle and gazes happily down at her rather flat tummy.

"Who's the lucky man?"

Sequin looks up, violet eyes confused. "Lucky man? ... Oh, yes. Not quite sure about the father, yet, but I'm _sure_ that he'll present himself. With all due time, Nuke, all due time!"

I nearly choke on my own saliva. "Wait… so you're so freaking happy about this child, and you have no clue who the dad is? Are you… are you being serious, Sequin?"

She bites her lip. "Um, in Panem it's a joy to have a baby," she says uncertainly.

"Yeah, same with District Four and all the other districts," I wave it off dismissively. "Sequin, that's not exactly something to be flaunting and proud of. That's kind of, like…" I stifle a nervous laugh.

The escort narrows her eyes. "You're just jealous," she sniffs.

"Am not!"

"Yes, you are," she grumbles. "You're upset that your wife has been barren, Nuke. Nothing to be jealous about, though."

"I… But we're not… _what_?"

"You're twenty-six, Nuke," Sequin says. "With all due respect, I have a feeling you're getting a bit… how do you say… hormonal?"

"_HORMONAL?!"_

"Yes."

With one last furious glance at the silly Capitolite, I scurry off to the chair next to Annie, my thoughts tangled up like a dish of seaweed.

"Want to bet who volunteers?" Annie asks softly, her butterfly-like eyelashes fluttering.

"Okay," I reply, sounding crabby. "I bet an eighteen-year-old guy and an eighteen-year-old girl. What about you, oh wise one?"

Annie blinks.

Whatever she's about to say is pierced by the raucous shriek of Sequin, who, despite being pregnant, is able to shout quite ferociously. "Welcome, District Four!" she screeches. "To the Reaping of the Ninetieth annual Hunger Games!"

Silence.

Sequin frowns. "Well, I'm sure you'll be much more enthusiastic once you find out who your representatives are, eh?"

Uncomfortable silence. A few women on the sidelines clap pathetically.

Sequin wrinkles her nose, not even bothering to move over to the big glass bowls. "Female…"

"_I volunteer!" _

A howl shatters the silence and the ocean of females part to make way for a freckled girl, her mouth still outstretched as she runs up to the stage, hand jabbing the air. She darts, very limber and quick, up the stairs to the microphone, her arm still waving frantically. Once the girl calms down, realizing that she made it onto the stage, relief floods over her features and she speaks into the microphone. "Juno Verdet of District Four."

Before Sequin has a chance to whisper "Male" into the microphone, another scream rings out around the square. Two boys run, stride by stride, both of their eyes locked onto the stage. My fists clench- who will make it? The blonde with a clenched jaw or the tall one with flowing brown hair?

Out of nowhere, the blonde's fist jabs out in front of the brunette and the latter falls, allowing the fighter to mount the stage, panting lightly. No smile is evident on his face, either. "Merritt Cordeau," he says solemnly, eyes flickering over the waves of kids.

"Well, Annie? Same gender?" My eyes turn to her, expecting an answer.

In reply, she smiles. There's a nod.

For once, my predictions have been proven wrong, and I couldn't be happier.

**Kassidy Flora, District Five, Victor of the 57****th**** Hunger Games**

"Ready for this year, Kass?"

I turn wearily over to Scarlett, her everlasting smirk planted on her face happily. "I think that we might have a chance, sure. Is that what you want to hear, Scarlett?"

Her puffy lips pout. "Come on, Kassidy," she whines. "Aren't you even a bit happy? I mean, last year we were so close with Kraft! Final four, remember?"

"Yeah," I manage to spit out. Despite my fifty-first birthday party just last night, I still have a bit of the fire in me from past years. "He was my tribute. I'd be a fool not to remember his name. And what about Ellen? Final twenty-two?"

Scarlett freezes, an answer on the tip of her tongue. Eventually she shakes herself out and replies, "Well, she was just twelve… it was in the stars, Kass. At least she wasn't dead last."

"District Twelve does not count," I sigh. "They're so fragile, they might as well be dead at chariots. That was bound to happen, too."

Scarlett narrows her eyes. "Well," she drawls. "At least in past years, I've gotten four tributes to the final six. Pretty nice, for only about twenty years."

I manage a smile. "And I brought home a victor."

Her lips split to reveal two rows of pearly whites. "You're right," she answers dreamily.

_Even though you made absolutely no kills,_ I think bitterly, my thoughts completely disrupting the moment_. Sheer luck that the boy fell off the edge of the cliff. You don't even deserve to be here. He was trained, he fought, and he did everything that you didn't._

I effectively hold back a snarky remark.

The escort, a man named "Lipp" dressed in neon yellow, bursts out from the curtains, his teeth dazzling and shimmering in the bright sunlight. He sashays to the microphone. I wince. Lipp is such a loser.

"Hello, District Five." He gazes around the sea of kids with a look of splendor in his eyes. Happy tears flow freely, and for a moment I can't help but wonder if he's acting or if he actually is supremely happy to send two kids off to their deaths.

"I'll waste no time in selecting your female, first." He smirks, strutting over to the glass bowls. His eyes flicker greedily over them, and he selects a slip. "Hm… Roberta No-"

"I VOLUNTEER!"

The shriek echoes around the town square, and mumbles arise within all of the kids and adults. Who would volunteer for this? In District Five, no less?

"Um, whoever said that, please step up to the stage?" Lipp smiles, eyebrows drawn together in utter confusion.

"I volunteer!" the voice calls out again. "Me! Maya Verone!"

"_What_?!" A girl, about fifteen or so, whips her head around, looking over the tops of peoples' heads. When she turns back, her face is bright red and very bewildered.

"Come on up, Maya," Lipp speaks into the microphone, gesturing. With ruddy cheeks, the girl slowly starts moving up to the stage, fiddling with the end of her dark brown braid. When she emerges fully, I can't help but shake my head in confusion. Though her appearance is rather dirty- unbathed, tousled hair- her clothes and gorgeous jewelries say otherwise. She's wearing loads of bangles, a few golden necklaces, and her dress looks brand new.

"Who is she?" Scarlett whispers in shock. I can only shake my head once more.

"Onto the males, then." Lipp trembles with happiness, his eyes glowing. He moves swiftly over to the second glass bowl, peering out into the crowd. It's almost like he's expecting another volunteer. When another does not come, he picks out a slip and announces… "Ezra Jefferson!"

It's easy to pick out the dark-haired boy, who's visibly shaking and holding his head in his hands. Cowering, dead to the world, it takes four Peacekeepers to pick the tall boy up and toss him onto the stage. Once on there, his feral eyes stare directly at me as he gets up slowly, body shaking in a frenzy.

That's it, then. Our tributes.

**Gingham Cleaver, District Six, Victor of the 66****th**** Hunger Games**

As the fog mists gently over the sleepy town square, I can't help but battle back an impending yawn. Morphling withdrawal's been nasty on my sleeping patterns. Not only that, but I'm pretty sure that my fellow mentor, Dalton, has been testing it out as well. Even mad, he has a lick of sense, and I'm sure that in no time he'll be going back to drawing clouds and horses and whatever else he did beforehand.

But for now, it's just a phase.

Or is it? I bite my lip as I glance over at him, his yellowing skin the most apparent thing about him. It closely matches my own, though he can't hide it as well.

"Dalton," I say gently, almost like a mother, "when did you first start morphling?"

"How do you know?" His brown eyes widen in fright.

I place a hand on his small shoulder, and his form convulses. His skin is cold to the touch. "Honey, your skin is yellow, you don't have any more insomnia, your breath has been particularly nasty as of late, and you're more… mellow."

He frowns. "That obvious?"

"Yes, it is."

"Fine," he sighs. "About three months ago."

I cringe to myself. Was I wrong? Is this not just a phase? I feel somewhat motherly over the younger man, though I'd never say it, and his well-being matters to me. I mean, even I'm trying to syphon off of morphling, as well.

"So…" he tries to start a conversation, but it's rather awkward now that I'm a bit confused about him. I smile, attempting to keep the tone of the conversation light and upbeat, but it just doesn't work.

And even Dalton, who has the brains of an eleven-year-old, can tell this.

Flitter, the escort, struts past in a turquoise evening gown. Her glass heels click on the stage, much like a judgmental parent or something, and she nods curtly at both Dalton and I. I respond in like, while Dalton himself trembles under her stern gaze.

"District Six," she speaks airily into the microphone. "We are gathered here today not to suggest death, but for hope of another victor." She pauses, eyeing Dalton and I up. "It has been twenty-three years since District Six has seen a victor, and so I hope one of the tributes this year… finds it within themselves to ultimately win."

Shifting within the crowd. Somebody uncomfortably clears their throat.

"Well, then." Flitter smiles warmly. I like her- she seems to actually care about the well-being of everybody, and she doesn't appear to be self-absorbed like most of the other escorts. "Let's begin with… your male."

She rummages her hand around in the glass fishbowl for a moment, drawing her hand out exaggeratedly. "Halcyon Chae!"

The boy is easily found out as he wastes no time in jogging up to the stage. A grim ghost of a smile is the first thing I see about him, but then I notice his pale hair and beautiful eyes. He's not too shabby-looking. If he finds himself some good allies, he could very well make it to the final five.

"Aria Verselis!"

I'm too busy scrutinizing Halycon to realize that Flitter's chosen another slip, so I look just in time as the said Aria mounts the stage. It took her a while… she must have been stunned, poor girl. A few slick tears streak down her slim cheeks as she tugs at a lovely red scarf, her mournful eyes searching the crowd.

I feel bad for the poor girl, but when push comes to shove, the dominant mentor should go with the dominant tribute, and I just _can't_ have the little, but sweet, Aria clogging up my time.

**Obsidian Krane, District Seven, Victor of the 83****rd**** Hunger Games**

"Welcome!"

"Does she ever stop?" moans Basil, falling back into his chair. He's not angry, really, simply annoyed. He's like this every year. Easily irked. It was worse when he demanded that he move into my Victor's Village home, even though he had a perfectly good one to himself. When instead of being annoyed, he was the one being annoying.

"I don't think so, brother," I reply smoothly, shrugging. I don't mind our escort, really.

"She's so bright." Basil wrinkles his nose, shuddering at her neon blue ensemble.

"I like that outfit," I reply absent-mindedly, eyes glued to her torso more than anything else.

Basil follows my gaze and snorts. "Dude, you have Birchia. Why are you undressing Enna with your eyes?"

I shrug once more, my stare unwavering. "Birchia's nice, man, but Enna is where it's at."

"You're such a player."

"Said the guy who's been married twice so far," I reply back, my snark still intact. "First Rowanda, now Arlo. Who's the player now, Basil?"

His cheeks flush in anger and, yes, irritation. He gets flustered so easily, honestly. "Rowanda broke it up with _me_," he snaps. "I had nothing to do with it!"

I roll my eyes. "Au contraire, brother," I murmur under my breath.

The mayor finishes up the speech about Panem's history with a flourish, and the escort comes forth. "Males or females first?" she says teasingly, tapping one of her electric blue nails against her lips.

Everybody knows that no matter what she chooses, a volunteer's voice will pierce through the silence. It's no secret that ever since the failed rebellion some fifteen years ago, families have been gathering privately to try and train like Careers. Axes are easy to get their hands on; as are machetes and hatchets. Trees become targets instead of plastic dummies and red ringed circles.

And yes, we have provided some wonderful victors, namely myself and my brother.

The deal Basil and I made with our parents was that Basil was to volunteer, and then both me and our littler brother, Axel, would be safe. Well, Basil came back, but I was still in the Reapings. Axel was Reaped, yada yada, I volunteered for family's honor, blah blah blah, and somehow I, the younger and less impressive brother, became victor.

I'm sure that some people are still trying to wrap their heads around this fact.

"Males, then?" Enna nods proudly, a smile gracing her bright blue lips. She starts strutting towards the set of glass bowls when out from a front section comes the familiar "I volunteer!"

The boy himself isn't that impressive, but what he lacks in appearance he makes up for in animated personality. Cockily, he tilts his head as he slowly clambers onto the stage, a cheeky smirk plastered onto his mug. "Brux Redragon," he drawls into the microphone, his movements sluggish.

Enna nods once more, her smile stretching from ear to ear. "Wonderful!" she proclaims, wrapping an arm around Brux. He's so tall, it barely reaches up to his armpits. "Brux, do you want to draw the female's slip, then?"

"My pleasure." He flashes a smirk and a nod before reaching into the glass bowl. Unlike Brux's volunteering, the place is dead silent. He forks the paper over to Enna, who promptly hollers out, "Aspen Northwood!"

A very loud gasp comes from one of the closer sections. I easily place the girl, with frightened watery eyes and a pixie cut, as she clutches another girl's hand. The second girl whispers something and, nodding dazedly, the pixie cut slowly makes her way onto the stage, spine locked and rigid.

"Anything to say, Aspen?" Enna beams.

Aspen Northwood shakes her head, eyes still bolted onto the other girl's.

"That's it, District Seven! Your _tributes_! Brux and Aspen, aren't they just _adorable_?"

**Velour Krum, District Eight, Victor of the 86****th**** Hunger Games**

"I can just feel it," hums Velvet as she taps her foot rapidly against the dusty floor of the stage. "This year we'll have a victor for sure."

I frown slightly. "How can you even say that? We might get two twelve-year-old kids who've never touched a needle, for all you know. What makes you so sure that this year is our year?"

Velvet locks eyes with me for a moment before shaking the critical question off with a light laugh. "Déjà vu, I suppose!"

I furrow my brows, hunching back into the chair. I don't know how Velvet does this every single year.

"Hello, District Eight!" the male escort, Gladius, arrives on stage, fluttering his yellowish wings animatedly. "Welcome to the Reapings for the 90th Hunger Games!"

"He's a fairy this year," I mutter, distraught.

"Makes up for it in tone, though." Velvet snorts. "Listen to that. Falsetto all the way."

Velvet's sort of like the sister I never had, despite being a great deal of years older than I. She has a wicked sense of humor and this optimistic sense on everything, including the Hunger Games and mentoring. It was her open nature that got me sponsors in my Games, including the blade that saved my life.

Though yes, there are the differences. Velvet was immediately remorseful in her few kills, while I had no regrets. It's Panem, right? We're forced to do this. It's not like it's on our own free will. Yes, at first I was a bit skeptical, but in the end, having no regrets did pay off.

"You're right. Nice accent this year, better than that cowboy one a few years ago." We shudder in unison, remembering the year of the 'howdy' and the 'y'all'.

Gladius surges forward, his wings bristling, and without wasting any time, withdraws a small white slip. My heart beats rapidly, just like it did the year I was Reaped, and every year before and after that.

"District Eight, your female will be Cayley Torelli!"

There's no movement for a bit- the entire pens seem to be frozen. Then, a general sigh of relief from every girl except Cayley Torelli. And that's when I see it- a head of glossy chestnut hair storming forward, her mouth wavering in between a nervous smile and a giant frown. Her eyes are welling up in tears, but at least she has the good sense not to spill any.

She takes her spot on the stage, quiet as a mouse, while Gladius hurries to pick the male's slip. I examine Cayley, her knees knocking together in fear. She looks decently strong, though she is a bit scrappier than the average tribute.

"District Eight, your male tribute this year is Tethys Acosta!"

There's no sound but the nervous, relieved laughs and sighs like there were for Cayley. Good, we don't have a set of screamers on our hands this year.

He's on the stage before I can see anything else. Devilish, darting eyes that still have their luster in them flicker around the stage, and his attempts to hide his growing smirk are in vain. He's almost _laughing_, for God's sake.

Why? He's just fourteen! This is like a death prediction come true for him, and he's _giggling_?

This doesn't go unnoticed on Velvet's part, either, as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "Is the boy insane?" she whispers harshly, eyes trained on his smaller form.

I can only shrug numbly.

**Roland Sanders, District Nine, Victor of the 68****th**** Hunger Games**

It's here. Just like every year.

The Reapings.

It's so uncomfortable for me and Olivander both, to know that throughout almost twenty years we have not brought home a single victor. I cope with morphling, while Olivander depends on nearly every illegal thing that there is. Alcohol, cigarettes, morphling, you name it, he's on it. Sunken skin, hollow eyes, raspy breath. Everything.

And he hates it. _I_ hate it. I hate this life. I should have just stepped off my plate at the bloodbath, to be honest, just ended my life right then and there.

Anything, really, would have been better than this destiny. The twenty-three whose lives were ended quickly fared much better than me. Or perhaps I should have simply handed the scythe over to Kristine. Let her seal my fate.

I regret so many things. All the things I've done. I should have just….

"Roland."

I look up through a veil of sleepiness. "Hm?"

"I've been asking you to listen to me for the past five minutes." Olivander's dark, raspy voice is creepy. He turns his gaze from me to a lighter, where he then sets aglow a beige cigarette.

"Well, I'm listening now, so get it over with."

He coughs for a moment, eyes screwed in pain. "Should we decide on the tributes we want beforehand, just to avoid bias?"

"Yes," I nod. "I'll go with the guy. I can't stand being around so many young blond girls who remind me of Hydrangea."

Olivander tries to groan, but winds up hacking up a storm again. "Dude, you have to get over her. That's almost twenty-two years ago, man. Lighten up. The past is in the past, right?"

I shoot him a look.

"Just saying." He shrugs.

Rolling my eyes and attempting to go back and wallow in my misery, I turn from him as our escort, Brilliance, saunters onto the stage.

"District Nine," she grins cheesily. "What a pleasure to see you all again, with the addition of a ton of twelve-year-olds!"

My gaze darts to the back, where a load of pale-faced, scrawny young kids stand. One with auburn braids looks like she's about to faint.

"Firstly, let's all thank your wonderful mayor, Mr. Sterling Grader, for a lovely speech about the history of my own home, the Capitol!" Brilliance bounces up and down peppily, like some chirpy high school girl with hot pink and bronze dreadlocks. "It was wonderful, as it was each year, Mr. Grader!"

The mayor, a frail man with greying black hair, nods uncertainly, waving cheerlessly at the crowds.

"To mix things up a bit this year, I thought we'd go with the males first!" Brilliance beams, already at the giant glass bowls. Her silver hand thrusts into one, swishing around dramatically, until one lonely slip in particular becomes the bait for her exaggeratedly long nails.

"Hm… Let's hear it for Braxton Malory!"

My stare, still on the mayor, doesn't fade as he pales, grasping his chair in utter shock. I vaguely know Braxton's name. It's his own grandson. And I'm mentoring him.

I follow the mayor's gaze to a pale boy, who's clutching his stomach in surprise. He rapidly recovers, however, and really hams it up, jogging up the aisle with a sappy smile on his chin, obviously masking his emotions. I have to respect him for that, especially since he doesn't look a day over fourteen.

Brilliance eyes him up eagerly. "We always do like to see a cheery tribute," she giggles, already unfolding the next slip. "Hm, do we have a Maysa Barric here?"

I pick out the girl fairly easily, mainly because she slips out of her age group quickly. Her lovely brown curls are disrupted as she shakes her head, eyes mournfully trained on Brilliance, Olivander and I. I feel guilty, even though I did absolutely nothing to affect her- I'm not even mentoring her.

But as I glance over at Olivander to see his reaction, he's asleep. Doesn't even care anymore.

I really am alone in this effort, then. And I _hate_ it.

**Jamie Hills, District Ten, Victor of the 54****th**** Hunger Games**

Doggedly, I try to keep pace with the more slender and regal-looking Eagle, but it's difficult to keep up with her long strides. Her cold gaze freezes even Meriweather, who's sheepishly trying to talk with the mayor.

"Just like every year, then?" I ask, panting a bit. I've really been packing on the pounds since my husband died, and the endless supply of cakes and pastries and such being delivered to my home doesn't help at all.

"Correct." She throws her nose into the air again, more aloof than ever.

"So I get the weakling and you get the stronger, more competent tribute," I grumble under my breath, secretly cursing her. At the same time, I can't help but admire her casual attitude, how she can't give a second thought to anything with that airy personality. Almost sixty and still going strong, unlike myself, who's eight years younger.

"District Ten, your mentors, Eagle Hugh and Jamie Hills!"

I force a smile onto my chubby cheeks, raising a hand to the silent masses of children and adults both. No signs of warmth anywhere. Great. Just like last year, again.

I know how much they must have hated me as Alise became the first tribute whose blood splattered onto the ground of the arena. It couldn't have been my fault, though… she wasn't in the right mindset, and she was just fifteen. I still have nightmares about her, brown hair tied up neatly, as she strolled to a rapier dazedly.

How her neck snapped so quickly.

I shake the thought out of my head, remembering that at least Eagle's tribute lasted until the final fifteen. He was somewhat stronger. It's the closest we've been to victory for twenty-some years, anyways. Top fifteen.

Really shows how _trained_ and _honorable_ this district is.

Meriweather quickly hops over to the microphone, her silvery buzz cut glimmering in the late afternoon sun. "A-Ahem. District Ten. Yes, hello." She nods nervously, nodding quickly. She's more jittery than a rabbit on caffeine. "Shall we cut to the chase? Females first, per usual?"

Nobody replies, so Meriweather nervously chuckles and hurries over to the glass bowls.

"Sh-Shael Havern."

For a moment, the crowds are silent. Then, movement. Eagerly I watch as a fairly plain young woman, about eighteen, strides up to the stage briskly, her face pale and her nails digging into her palms. She's almost quivering, but I'm unsure if it's from fear or anger. Her face gives almost nothing away- oh, no, wait… she's biting her lip. Fear, probably. But from a distance, if you saw her, she'd be stoic, almost emotionless. I smile warmly. She's a regular actress!

"Um, the males now?" Meriweather wraps a comforting arm around Shael, pulling her in, and the younger girl stands stiffly, unsure of what to do. I stifle a laugh as Meriweather's voice rings out. "Cade Bennett?"

A young boy's voice cries out, and immediately I know that this is my tribute. Interested, I peer over the tops of tall children, to see a slight scuffle with a short boy and a Peacekeeper. The boy struggles against the older person's strong grip, and is quickly shoved in the direction of the stage. With flushed cheeks and an embarrassed expression, Cade rushes up to the stage, eyes darting nervously.

Eagle snorts. "I've got-"

"Shael," I reply coldly. "Yes, I know. You get the better tribute, and most likely Cade will be a bloodbath and Shael won't get much farther." Eagle's icy façade appears to be shattered as I snap, "It's the same song and dance every year, Eagle, and nobody likes it. We're basically killing their kids. Next year I should just stick you with the freaking bloodbath tribute, see how _you_ like it."

And for the first time in forever, Eagle is tongue-tied.

**Hudson Rhine, District Eleven, Victor of the 87****th**** Hunger Games**

_Alone_.

The nagging voice at the back of my mind is repetitive and relentless both, whispering angry words into my ears, filling my mind with curses and hell.

_You're just alone, Hudson. You keep failing. Why do you keep failing?_

The only way to get them to stop is to answer them- and I must answer truthfully, or else they become darker and angrier than ever.

"I fail because I've lost hope." My whisper is ragged, my breath quivering and tremulous.

_It's just your third year, Hudson. You can't already have lost hope._

"You know when you've lost hope." I swallow thickly.

_It's only been four tributes. Four tributes, each of them dead at the bloodbath. Some advice you give them, huh?_

I grip the handles of my chair, sweat breaking out through my forehead. "I do what I can," I say quietly, on the verge of tears, "but I just can't help the fact that their deaths are unaccounted for."

_You're their last hope._

The world before me seems dizzy. I squeeze my eyelids shut, shaking my head a few times to try and clear up any nausea that comes my way. My fingers scrabble in the pocket of my jacket, searching desperately for the sharp tip of the morphling needle, and I have to restrain myself from slamming it into my bluish vein. It takes a while, yes, but I can feel the drug working its way through every part of me to calm myself.

When the escort, Prius, comes around to tell me that he'll be announcing my arrival soon, I'm pretty much prepped, my voices gone. I'm even smiling slightly. I don't see why people say morphling is a bad thing. Taken responsibly, it has wonderful, positive outcomes.

"Welcome to the Reapings, District Eleven! I'd like to welcome your trustworthy, amazing mentor, Hudson Rhine!"

A smile painted humbly over my chin, I stride out to the stage, nodding and trying to keep the tone of the Reaping light, though I know it never will be.

"Shall we start, Hudson?" Prius smiles, and even though every fiber of my body advises against it, I nod dumbly.

A gloved hand. Glass fishbowl. One slip, soon to be thrown to their death.

"Kiera Brennan!" barks out Pruis.

"_NOPE_!"

With a snap of my head, I whip my gaze over to a redheaded girl, currently screaming like her life is about to end- which it is- and flailing her limbs about. Immediately a troop of Peacekeepers seize her, as she's screaming "It's true, it's true!" and in unison, they thrust her onstage.

I stare at the writhing girl with a sense of agony myself.

She scrambles to her feet, doggedly leaping over to me, panting. "You're Hudson," she shrieks out, eyes wide and feral. "You can _save_ me, I know you can!"

"N-No…" I stammer out, slinking back in my chair from the crazy girl. _I'm mentoring her?!_

"_Yes, you can_!" she screams out, slamming her foot onto the stage with a kick of her leg. Peacekeepers rush to the stage again, three of them immediately placing her in a chokehold.

Prius is visibly wavered. "Well," he starts out, his voice faltering. "Let's… um… let's go with the males now. So… well…. Come on up, Cole Tenacity!"

A disruption in the front row is caused by a solemn-looking boy, tall and threatening-looking. He must be better off, since he's stockier than most in the district. His eyes widened, trained on Kiera, he mounts the stage quietly.

So this is it- an insane girl and a reserved guy who, so far, has shown no emotion?

Not exactly victor material, but of course I'll try.

**Grey Ray, District Twelve, Victor of the 76****th**** Hunger Games**

"District Twelve, I'm just so glad to be escorting for you all this year!" Bubblez bounces up and down, her bright smile somewhat diminished by her loud bubblegum pink lips.

I groan inwardly, shaking my head. Even Prius was better. At least he wasn't the freakish new escort, he was seasoned with three years of work. He was kind, too. He didn't treat the tributes like possessions, like the escorts before did. He knew they were human and even treated them like his own children, rubbing their backs when they were down and trying to cheer them up.

And then there's freakish Bubblez.

I mean, the girl is called Bubblez. She insisted that the 'z' is absolutely necessary and therefore, must also be pronounced with it. 'Bubblezzz'. Like a bumblebee, really.

Plus, she can't be a day over seventeen. She's probably getting special treatment since she's some daughter of a Gamemaker or something. It's not fair at all, but I've learned through twenty-plus years as a mentor that things just aren't fair in life. It doesn't matter how you get there as long as you do, right?

Right. That's how I went from the timid little girl to the brutal killing machine, swinging my swords without mercy.

"Soooooo!" the escort squeals, kicking up a heel. "I'm sure that this year District Twelve will bring home a victor for sure, so why beat around the bush when we can immediately pick the victor, huh?"

Silence. I cough just to make her feel a bit better, since I can almost see her excited orange ponytails droop.

"Let's get on with it, then!" Bubblez offers me a grateful smile, which I don't return immediately. It's only after she turns that the corners of my lips turn up.

The slips rustle in her hand, and the familiar banging of my heart reminds me how nervous I was, and constantly am, whenever the slips are pulled. Just a constant reminder that death is real.

"Haven Faye, come on up!"

A blond girl, rather frail, is quick to storm up. She doesn't cry, a definite bonus. Instead, she marches straight to Bubblez and, with a slight movement, she slaps her forearm. Bubblez is unaffected- she must be made of armor or something – and simply gazes back at Haven with pity.

"I'm sorry that it had to happen, but rules are rules, sweetheart," she says soothingly. My heart gives a funny leap. Maybe I misjudged Bubblez. Maybe she does have a soul.

"I'll be quick… Kinton Machek?"

A strangled cry is let out from the female's side, and emerging from one of the front rows is a baby-faced guy, slightly shorter than the average male. Draped in a black coat, he looks rather odd as he stumbles up to the stage, a few tears dripping out of his darkening brown eyes. His gaze meets mine for a moment and he tries a smile.

My heart officially melts like butter for this poor boy who's basically signed a death wish.

"District Twelve, I leave you with a smile and a 'May the odds be ever in your favor!'"

Not while I'm mentoring, there won't be.

**A/N: Like Yesterday by Luke Conard.**

**Ahhh, I loathe Reapings, so I told myself to just sit down and get them all done. Yeah, they suck, I know… Anyways.**

**I'm going on vacation soon, two and a half weeks, so if the next update is very late, I won't have wifi. I don't know. Hotels can be sketchy, no?**

**Anyways, questions.**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Favorite escorts/mentors?**

**3. Which tributes stood out to you?**

**4. Who are you looking forward to seeing?**


	4. The Outsider

_**.**_

_**These people are weird in here, and they're giving me the fear.**_

_**Just because you know my name doesn't mean you know my game.**_

**Merritt Cordeau, District Four**

The muted sounds of Juno, Sequin, Annie, and Nuke speaking are drowned out by the continuous whine of the train's wheels. Rather annoying, really, but who am I to complain? I'm just the stereotypical volunteer from Four, after all.

"The tributes this year look tough." I latch onto the conversation easily, locking eyes with my mentor as he speaks. "The Reapings showed that."

"We didn't even get to see them," I protest quietly, gazing at the ground purposefully.

Nuke frowns. "You didn't? … ah, never mind. I was thinking about how Annie and I watched the replays a while ago. You would like to watch them all, I'm guessing?"

"Of course," Juno answers him with a laid-back grin. "We can after dinner."

"That's too late for me," Annie butts in, eyes widened like saucers. "I… I have a meeting with Sequin after supper. Would during supper be fine?"

We all agree, murmuring our assent and such. I expect Nuke to start lecturing Juno and I about the dangers of the Career pack or whatever, but surprisingly, he simply nods tiredly and starts sluggishly moving to his own compartment, leaving us completely alone.

Annie and the silly-dressed escort leave after a few moments as well, Annie with a soft smile and Sequin with a haughty toss of her hair. Juno and I are left sitting on the benches, all alone.

While I'm sitting very rigid, still taking in my colorful surroundings, Juno starts making herself at home- throwing her feet up, yawning loudly, and snuggling into the cushioned bench. I wonder how she stays so calm, when the dark shadow of the Games is slowly pulling over both of us.

"So," she begins, her voice musical, "Stupid people, huh?"

I nod stiffly, lacing my fingers together. "Nuke is alright," I admit truthfully.

"Sure, and I guess I'm expected to say Annie's the nicest lady in the world," Juno sighs. She shakes her head playfully, causing her loose red hair to whip around. "Nah, I'm kidding. They're not too bad, once you get used to their prissy ways and arrogant beings."

"They're not arrogant. They used to be one of us, Juno, just kids who wanted to get home. They worked really hard for this."

"True," she says, but I have a feeling she's just saying that to get me off her back. Juno seems kind of like a flippant person. Not one that I'd usually mesh with.

"So where'd you come from, Merritt?" she raises a thin eyebrow. "I don't recognize you much."

"My family kept a low profile," I shrug. "What about you?"

Juno eyes me up for a moment before replying that her family was a quiet one as well, along with a couple more random facts that I don't remember. Something along the lines of free will and all that. And then she yawns once again. "I think I'll take a nap. Refresh myself for dinner, you know?"

"Okay."

I watch her limber form as it stumbles back to her train compartment, arms swinging idly and hair flowing. District partner-wise, I think that I lucked out. Juno's really not too bad, rather laid-back and chill. Better than a bouncy fourteen-year-old, on any rate. I smile as I remember Dallia from last year, the picture of a hyper, young Career.

Career.

Will that one word alone define me? No doubt that it will be generally tossed my way whenever I walk by somebody. "Oh, here comes the blond Career boy." I bet they won't even remember my name, just the fact that I'm a trained murderer.

The thought makes me shiver.

Dinner comes quickly, a buffet of assorted foods and drinks, soups and salads. My eyes flicker over each individual dish hungrily. Stuff like this would be pretty pricey in District Four, even though we're one of the richest districts.

"Gulp down some food as you watch, children." Sequin, the escort, leers creepily. I watch in mild fascination as her painted, curved nails fish a piece of bread from the basket, and quickly make a mental note not to take any bread at this meal.

The television mounted onto the wall flashes the Capitol seal briefly before dissolving into the number 'One'. I watch in fascination as a brunette girl, Carisa, introduces herself, and then some boy named Soren. They don't seem very happy to be each other's partners- or Carisa, at least- and I manage to catch a glimpse of the mentors looking both perplexed and amused as the scene switches to District Two.

"Already some fractures in your alliance with just the first district," Nuke points out. "Watch out for that, you two."

Stuffing a spoonful of beef broth into my mouth, we all watch as another brunette female mounts the stage. Eidra. She's really pretty and tanned, and quite a contrast, compared to her pale district partner, Wraith.

"Eidra's good, I've seen her around. And Wraith is something new, I have never even heard of him. District Two's taking a hard bargain this year with him, you two. He may be the backstabbing tribute they've been trying to keep under wraps." Nuke looks worried. "The one that changes the fate of the Games."

Juno gasps on cue, and I nod, trying to keep a leash on the whirling thoughts in my head. Backstabbing tribute? I must ask him about that later.

District Three's impressive for once, with a fiery-haired girl storming up to the stage and spitting her name at the escort. The male, on the other hand, is simply a bloodbath for sure- a young boy with a solemn expression. He's frail, too. The girl's somebody to watch out for, though, definitely.

"Bloodbath," Juno mutters as she watches the boy sigh faintly, under the camera's harsh glare.

But that's where Annie, the quiet one, surprises me. She whirls around with fury in her eyes, and spits out, "Don't ever count out the 'weakest' one, Juno. They'll only come to stab you in the back."

**Aria Verselis, District Six**

Rule number one, don't get attached. Look what good that's gotten me! I've basically _invited_ myself to be allies with him!

And each time Halcyon glances over at me, faint smile clear as day on his lips, I internally pinch myself.

He was so upset and broken, though, I couldn't help but make small talk with him, my notebook as my ally. And then I got to know him. And then we started telling each other about our pasts. And he accepted that I could not talk around him, had to write everything down to communicate. He was much more open and accepting than most people.

I suppose I was drawn to that.

He's better than our mentors, too. Gingham's constantly insulting us, making critical notes about our appearances and such, and Dalton, my mentor, doesn't seem to be all there. His childish, blank personality is a bit off-putting.

And the worst part? Everything is so fancy here, and I feel so out of place! I mean, when we first boarded the train, a hot cheese fountain was directly in front of me, and our escort started shoving random blobs of whitish bread underneath it. "Fondue", she'd called it, and tried teaching me how to do it. But I didn't catch on at all.

Everything is so new and freaky here. I can't stand it.

"Only five minutes till Capitol, people!" Flitter hisses, smoothing down her long yellow dress and primping her hair at the same time. "Look presentable!"

I glance down at my Capitol-issued outfit— plain, slim black pants, a white sweater with streaks of grey, sensible black slippers, and my red scarf. To humor Flitter, I pretend to be admiring myself in a nearby mirror, fingertips at my face, until she struts away.

Halcyon walks in from the dining room car, apple in hand. He's clad in the same outfit I am, though his pants are a bit looser and, of course, he has no scarf. "What'd she say?"

I hold up a hand, fingers outstretched. Five.

"Ah." He nods appreciatively, settling into a chair. "I think I can see the opening stretch of the Capitol, too— look."

I turn to a window, eyes widening as I do. The Capitol itself hasn't lied about its majestic glory. The few buildings I can see are ginormous, candy-colored, and frilly. I suppose the escorts are there to prepare us, in a way. The train rides, as well.

"Wow," I breathe.

Halcyon is less impressed, humming under his breath and chomping off another bite of apple. "Nice place for a bunch of kids to die, huh?"

I look at him, nose wrinkled.

He sighs and shrugs. "Why mince words, Aria? That's what they're doing. Worst comes to worst, we'll both be _dead_."

I blink, cheeks heating up. I want to tell him not to be such a cynical person, to lighten up a bit. But he's right, I know that. We both probably will die. In a few years, neither of us will be remembered. Pawns in a game, knocked to the ground.

Our glory days are over.

The huge city draws closer and closer until the train dives into darkness. A tunnel. Seals of the Capitol occasionally flash as the wheels zip over the metal rails.

Suddenly, our train car is bathed in light as the train itself pulls up to a platform. My eyes are spinning once I see a load of funny little people waving, screaming, cheering— did they say 'Aria'?

"They're _cheering_ us." Halcyon seems amused.

Flitter struts into the room, her gorgeous black hair swept into a high knot on top of her head. "These are the times you'll want to remember, darlings," she sighs, escorting both of us to the windows. Halcyon stares out blankly, though I swear I can see the ghost of a smile on his lips. Me? Out of sheer nervousness – or maybe it's hysteria – I wave, my lips peeling back into a beam.

The silly people react accordingly, shrieking and waving their hands even more frantically. They love me – rather, me and Halcyon, that is. We may even have sponsors!

The stretches of people don't end until the train pulls into another tunnel. But it's only mere moments until there are even more, but the numbers of these are even greater. It's overwhelming.

"You don't have to wave to these people, darlings," Flitter shrugs, walking away from the window. "I doubt most of them have enough money to buy you life-saving tonics and such. The first people, those are the sponsors you'll most likely deal with."

I find myself scribbling something down in my notebook. 'Why'?

"The first people? Honey, they're always the richer ones. They pay for the first glimpse of you, which means that they are usually loaded. The rest are simpletons. They don't pay for their spots in seeing the trains come by."

I nod, frowning a bit. Is that how they're described in the Capitol? Simpletons? They look just as shiny and peppy as all the rest to me. Maybe there's something I'm not getting.

Halcyon snorts. "Wake me up when you don't classify your type as poor people," he sighs, walking out of the train car to his compartment.

Flitter watches him go with a mixture of disappointment and slight anger. "He'll be tougher to fix up, but you, Aria, are much more presentable." She beams. "Once we get you in a pretty dress, maybe some simple eye make-up, the crowds will simply eat you up!"

I smile weakly.

Great, I think as she walks away, heels tapping softly along the carpeted floor. I have to be put on show, like at an auction or something, for the people who will eventually be watching the end of my life. Is it always like this, here? Why is everybody so casual about it?

In a way, I admire Halcyon. While he's staying true to himself, here I am, overthinking everything and being overall a lapdog. Playing by the rules, being gung ho, everything. But I don't want to be that. All I want to be is myself, and nothing less than myself. Aria Verselis, the quiet one. The dependable one. The meek, the humble, the kind-spirited. Not the show-offy one. Or the prideful, peppy one.

And definitely not the murderous one.

**Haven Faye, District Twelve**

"Yow," I hiss as the silver-skinned one, Flattop or Flattie something equally stupid, rips another strip of paper off of my arm.

She peers at me over thick, purple glasses. "Honey, stay still. It'll be a lot less painful."

"I don't want to stay still. I'm not _lazy_."

"Too bad for you, then." The male, Yak, glares at me with lemon yellow eyebrows. "We've had no trouble with other tributes in the past, Heaven. Why should you be any different?"

"It's Haven," I protest feebly, my mouth slamming shut as the one with starfish woven into her hair, Trappie, comes at me with a tweezers. My heart thuds. "Why are you coming at my face with those?"

"You got a mustache," she replies busily, already snipping off the hair on my upper lip.

"Are you insane? You could cut off some of my lip or whatever!"

"We could do with a bit less of your lip, anyways," Yak jovially remarks, and the two women join in raucously.

I shut up after that, simmering in my own rage.

Honestly, it's people like them who have made me like this. Angry. Hardened. And it's the people like them who've gotten me in this situation, anyways. It's infuriating, really, to know that the unfortunate people with actual personalities and lives have to go into that arena, while people who only care about the colors they're going to dye their nose hairs, like them, get to watch from the sidelines with popcorn.

"Finally!" crows Trappie as she peels out one last hair follicle. I rub my aching lip, glaring all the while. "We can now hand you over to Wholly!"

I nearly moan as she says his name- Wholly. The infuriating names these people come up with. What's next, Sugar or Skippy?

The three goons leave the room, leaving me feeling exposed until I grab up a robe. Then it's just me, alone like I've always been.

Loneliness doesn't immediately set in, though. After hours of agonizing accents and the continuous peeling of papers from my skin, solitude is actually appreciated. I sit there in the room, eyes grazing around the colorful landscape of shelves and stools. There was never much color back in District Twelve. We were lucky if there was a splotch of blue in our sunsets. Grey skies, coated with smog and ashes from all the coal we burn- ironically, burning coal to retrieve more.

But for whose benefit? The Capitol's. Like I said before, the people who receive everything also get the best entertainment. Unfair. And this 'Wholly' guy. I bet he's the newcomer to stylists and such, so they stuck him with the least-desired district. Nobody in their right mind would want the district of failed rebels and coal miners. Ever since District Thirteen merged with District Twelve, every year of the Games has brought a scrappy girl and a scrappy boy. This year's no different. At least in District Eleven or Ten or whatever, there's diversity.

I hear the door shut and my heart's racing again. I whip my head to the side to see a small, dark-skinned man with whitish-cobalt hair. He doesn't look too bad. He seems all sage and wise, anyways, not like some newbie. I allow a relieved smile to grace my face, but it's very brief.

"You're Haven, huh?"

"That's my name."

He adjusts some thin spectacles, his eyes flickering over me. "Stand up, please?"

Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I comply. "What do you need to know?"

"Ah, just measurements and such. The outfit is designed, we just need to know your coordinates in order to fit the dress to your size."

"Eighty pounds and five feet." I fib.

He looks at me with strange, purplish eyes. "I know that's a lie. You're actually better-fed than most of the kids we bring in."

I frown, a hand flying to my wrist. "That's a lie, too, isn't it? My parents never overfed me or anything like that. I mean, my bones still jut out." I shake my arms for emphasis, allowing the joints to pop accordingly. Wholly's eyes widen and I smirk. I've gotten used to the gyrating, creaking, feeble joints.

"I admit, it may be a lie, but your joints… they're terrible!" Wholly shakes his head.

"Yeah, can we just get to the chariot outfit part? This is kind of boring, just reliving my past life," I say. "I mean, yeah, I want to get home and all that, but talking about the bad parts of my past sure isn't going to help."

He nods, coughing slightly. He scans me over, wrapping yellow tapes around my waist and such. It takes just a couple minutes, and once he's done, he produces a shiny, black, long bag. Must be for my dress.

The material that he pulls out is not too impressive; it looks like some charred wood. I think I vaguely recognize it from the trashcans around the Victor's Village, where I sometimes poked around. I think it's material from the traditional flaming outfits that they've displayed proudly ever since the Seventy-Fourth Games, just before the rebels' revolt. Flames have become the District Twelve trademark, though in my opinion they've become incredibly boring.

I slide the dress on as quickly as I can, trying to avoid eye contact. My stylist comes up behind me, tugging at pieces of fabric and random ribbons all around. Next comes a golden necklace, adorned with glittering stones. For the final touch, Wholly hands me some flat orangey slippers. "You look great," he says softly, leering as he comes behind me with a slim silver tool.

"What's that?"

"Just something to curl your hair. Don't be so paranoid."

Trying to relax my muscles, I listen absent-mindedly as he blabbers on and on about lighting the bottom of the dress, remembering to wave and maybe try and work a team angle with Kinton, everything.

He lets me go with a final flicker of his eyes.

And then it's just me- just me, two shimmering black horses, a lighter, and my youthful-looking district partner.

**Soren Valen, District One**

My throat is a desert.

"C-Cary," I choke out, eyes swimming in silent tears as she struts away, head held high. That's all I've seen of her since she met Hollis. The back of her silky hair, slim figure. She's never upheld a true conversation with me since then. Even on the train she blatantly refused to speak with me, shutting herself in her compartment.

Sheen was no help, simply burped and said that Carisa was furious, as if she had a right to be stuck up in our personal business. Teal offered a bit more advice, confiding in me that he'd been rejected multiple times as well. But they couldn't help me. The only thing that can help me is she, Carisa, _Cary_…

Plucking a stray rhinestone from my hair, I dart after her, where she and the rest of the Careers have gathered around the District Two chariot. I've learned their names. Eidra, the hyper-looking brunette. Wraith, he of the pale skin and stocky build. Juno, the redhead with the cool demeanor, and Merritt, the stern-looking blond. And then, of course, Cary.

But once I arrive at the wheel of the chariot, it's her willowy form that blocks me from the group. I gently try to nudge past her, but to no avail.

Luckily, Juno notices me and with a small smile, she offers me a spot next to her and Wraith. I gratefully accept, grinning toothily back at her. I like her a lot already.

"So, that's why I think I should be your Career leader." Merritt finishes with a curt nod, eyes flickering around the circle. My stomach churns as Cary raises her hand, replying in like to him and clearing her throat.

"Um, yes, that's all wonderful reasons, Merritt, but I have one quick thing to bring up before any final arrangements are made." Her tone is serious, but her beaming smile suggests otherwise. "I'd like to say that I don't think my district partner should ally with us."

"Why not?" Eidra is quick to ask.

"I can't say why, really." Cary's eyes well up with tears, but I know she's faking them. Manipulating is definitely her strong suit, which was something I admired about her. "I-I'm sorry, Eidra, but… it's just too painful for me to speak of. He broke something truly dear to me, wrecked my life…"

My stomach does another funny flip. My throat turns to ice. None of that is true, she _has_ to understand that…!

But both Eidra and Juno gasp, eyes widening accordingly. They're buying it. Cary continues, dabbing at her eyes. "How do you think I feel when I work my entire life for this, and just to grind my gears, he volunteers alongside me, knowing that it'll totally throw me off my game?"

"Terrible," Juno whispers, eyes darting over to me, no longer friendly and open.

"Wait." Wraith Elvery speaks up for the first time, hand held high. "How do we know that you're not the liar, Carisa? For all we know, you just took a disliking to him and you're trying to force him out of the group already." Heart swelling, I silently thank the guy for sticking up for me.

"Trust, I guess?" Cary sighs, as if a weight has been pushed onto her shoulders. "I can't back it up, I admit that. But Soren can't lie…" she turns to me, face set.

My knees knock. She knows that I can't testify against her. I love her too much.

"Soren?" she prods, eyes full of spite and fury. I can tell that she's one step away from losing control.

Swallowing dryly, I stammer out, "I… I can't… Cary…"

Eidra looks at me, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. "Stop it," she speaks forcefully. "I'm going to stick by my girl here, Soren. If you hurt her, you shouldn't be allowed to be near her at all."

"Girl code," echoes Juno.

I look helplessly at Merritt and Wraith. Wraith looks at me, his expression pitying and slight woe. The blond guy simply stares at me, eyes darkening and scanning over me, scrutinizing me. I feel exposed. "Two against three." Merritt sighs. "Sorry, man."

Sorry, man.

When will people understand that 'sorry' just doesn't cut it?

My senses numb, I trudge back to the chariot. It's like I'm walking through syrup. Cary, the only person who I truly felt at home with, has betrayed me. I thought she'd be understanding and hopefully she'd be able to trust me for the things I've done. I thought I knew her well enough to assume that.

But what she just did is… is shocking, to say the least.

I mount the chariot, clutching the silver bar with one hand. The impending noise coming from behind the closed doors seems drawn-out, emphasized. I blink sluggishly, blinking dumbly.

Some monotone voice tells the tributes to prepare for the parade by getting onto their chariots. I watch mournfully as Cary steps onto the platform next to me, her lips peeled back in a snarl.

"Just stay away from me and we shouldn't have a problem, _jerk_." Her words are like acid, cutting not only into my skin but also my mind.

The horses suddenly jerk us through the heavy-paneled doors, and I clutch the bar for support until they're maintaining a casual yet brisk stride. I can tell by the shrieks on Cary's side that she's already waving, blowing kisses to gain sponsors. What shall I do? Without the Career pack, I'm nothing. No sponsors. No allies.

Forcing a grin upon my thin lips, I raise a hand to the colorful audience on my side. The flashes are overwhelming, the screams overly exaggerated and gleeful.

And then I hear the slow chant of my name- "So-_ren_! So-_ren_! So-_ren_!"

Happiness floods into my heart as if from a straw. Hope enters my mind.

Will I be… _accepted_ here?

**Cade Bennett, District Ten**

"Nervous, Cade?"

Shael frowns lightly as I shake my head energetically, bouncing on the balls of my feet lightly. "Not at all," I admit, scratching my neck and watching the District One chariot, clad in shimmery bathing suits and gemstones, as it rolls through the doors into the bright room beyond. "What about you?"

Her wide brown eyes, framed by a brownish makeup, blink a couple times as she struggles to find an answer. "Um, same."

One thing that I've learned about Shael? She's not one to uphold a good conversation with. Oh, and she's more shy than anything, though Jamie tells me that she's just masked, whatever that means.

District Two's chariot sinks through the doors, their two tributes clad in silvery soldier costumes. "I love everything here," I sigh, talking half to myself and half to her. "The food, the people. They're so kind."

Looking at me in a strange way, Shael shakes her head. We watch as District Three goes through the doors, their tributes as different as night and day, though their outfits (sparking wires draped fashionably around their bodies) are similar. District Four is nothing special, the tributes waving as their green fishing outfits shimmer.

"District Five looks great this year," I comment as I watch the girl, her beautiful smile radiating towards the crowd and the lanky boy, his shy beam causing many gasps in the crowd. Their skin-tight silver bodysuits are certainly attention-grabbing.

Shael murmurs something I don't catch.

District Six with their pale skin slicked up with what appears to be oil is next to go, and then District Seven, both of the tributes clad in flimsy paper outfits. A funny churning in my belly begins as the next district leaves, both of their tributes in bodysuits of differing materials and colors.

"Only two away!" I chirp, glancing sideways at Shael. "C'mon, Shay, don't be like that."

A small smile plays on her lips. "Shay? That's so stupid."

I grin, happy to have gotten a rise out of her. "C'mon, it's not that bad. Here, think of a nickname for me."

Just like that, our moment is gone. Her smile fades and she looks away, to the side. "I don't know."

I purse my lips, observing as the chariot in front of us rolls into the light. The tributes there, Maysa and Braxton, I've learned, are both dressed in clothing with what looks like straw woven into the fabrics, causing a glittering golden effect.

"I hope the people like our outfits," I murmur, glancing down at my cow-printed outfit. The splotches of black and white, along with the headband of horns that they forced me to wear, isn't that flattering, but in the Capitol anything goes. I snort, "I bet the people back home will hate them. This is so stereotyped."

Shael adjusts her horns, tugging at her cowbell necklace. "It's not about what they think anymore. Capitolites are the only people who can sponsor us, Cade."

I'm about to reply back with a joke when our chariot pulls forward, separating us from the firey Twelve tributes and the two from Eleven in their overalls and hats.

"Whoa," I murmur, eyes huge as I see the thousands and thousands of people, all gathered in the stands to see us. This is incredible.

"Start waving, little boy," Shael mutters before plastering on a bright smile, unbelievably forced, and starting to wave.

What shall I do? District Eleven is already pulling out behind us, and I _want_ to make an impression.

Feeling my heart leap as a girl with raven hair catches my eye, I let loose a joyous whoop, barely hearing it above the shrieking and cheering of the crowd. Feeling energetic, I clutch the bar in front of me and hop up and down a couple times, grinning all the time.

I wonder what my family back home is thinking of this.

Pa's probably watching the screen with that familiar twinkle in his eye. Momma, I bet that she's crying into her apron, but maintaining a firm stare on the television. And Winston? Gee, he probably has a broken arm already, maybe even a broken leg, but no doubt his eyes would be glued to the television.

I let a wide, genuine beam overpower my cheesy, toothy grin. My eyes fall upon a camera, just above the crowd, its lens searching and scanning each chariot in turn. When it points at the District Ten chariot, I make sure to shriek out a quick, "Hi, Momma! Hi, Pa!" before it pans to the next one.

"What was that for?" Shael asks rudely.

Grinning, I shrug. "Just wanted to say 'hey' to my folks. Nothing wrong with that."

She stares at me for a while, her huge brown eyes unblinking, until her attention is averted to the ring of chariots. District Nine pulls to the left, and our horses give a sharp turn until we're directly next to the District Eight chariot.

The boy, about my age, with a sinister smirk plastered onto his mug, glances over at us and winks. The girl, with striking features and dark hair, looks pale and somewhat tense.

Not the best allies, if you ask me.

I shrug and focus on Mrs. Snow, her soft blond hair cascading just above her shoulders. Her face is strict, eyes unwavering. They never leave the ring of tributes until District Twelve pulls in next to us, and then she begins her speech.

It's not very long, just a couple minutes or so, but it's enough time for me to realize how much power she really is in. It must be wonderful, to know that you own twelve districts, plus a thriving Capitol. How much effort must have been locked carefully into place in order to maintain complete control over everything. And it wasn't her job, either. I'm told in school that her father, Coriolanus Snow, was the actual person who did it.

In a way, I'm glad he's not alive anymore. He would have freaked me out way too much.

Her speech finishes up. Slowly, from behind the chariots, a low trumpet sounds in tribute to the 'fallen', as she put it. I feel like I should salute or something, but everybody else seems to be rigid and in their place, so I follow the crowd.

"_Lovely_ speech, wasn't it, Cade?" Shael sighs from next to me, her voice hushed.

I glance up at her and smile, talking in the same tone she used. "It really _was_."

**Maya Verone, District Five**

Bidding Ezra farewell and hopping off the chariot, wincing inside my skintight suit, I start milling around. Staying still in that chariot was terrible. If I can't be in motion, I feel like I'm trapped.

I notice the girl from Six eyeing me up, her lips slightly puckered. I'd go over to talk to her, but there are bigger fish in the pond, better people for alliances. And no offense to her, she seems really sweet, but she's both small and fragile. Rolling my shoulders back and letting my deep brown hair out of its tight braid, I start jogging.

The tributes this year look fierce, but none look fancy or anything. Even the duo from One seem stiff in their pretentious costumes. Nobody, really, that would be a good victim. I frown slightly. Where's the fun in that?

"Maya?" Ezra's tense voice pierces the uncomfortable silence.

I whirl back to him, tilting my head slightly.

"U-Um…" he swallows, the lump in his throat bobbing. "Would you l-like to go back to the apartment?"

He's kind of cute, being all gawky and awkward and shy. I grin.

"Not right now, Ezra," I reply lightly. "I'd like to get a feel for who I think would make a good ally, before everybody's snatched up. You know?"

He looks at me with those deep eyes of his, eyebrows drawing together. "Um, should I stay with y-you?" he stammers out, visibly nervous.

"If you like." I offer him an easy-going grin. "Don't fear, Ezra. You don't have to be shy around me."

He hesitates before offering me another smile, this one filled with dread and fear. "O-Okay. That sounds good, Maya."

I wink, giggling lightly at his awkwardness, before tugging at the top of my silver bodysuit again. I feel so restricted in this thing.

I off-handedly grab a large chunk of wood that adorns the District Seven chariot and started sawing at my shoulder with a jagged part. Before I know it, the incredibly thin material gives away and I'm left with a much less binding suit, held together by the fabric coming up my other shoulder. Lovely.

Pulling off the tight silvery boots and casting them to the side, I start padding along with my newly bare feet. I can feel Ezra gawking at me, and I notice all the eyes of the other males glued to me. It makes me feel uncomfortable, to be honest. Why are they such perverts? All I did was take off my shoes, cut off a strap. Nothing _scandalous_.

My eyes connect with the girl from Nine, Maysa. She's sitting on the edge of her chariot, eyes flickering over everybody in silent observance. Ah, a tribute who's not knee-deep in shallowness, I like it.

"Hello there," I greet her as I hop onto the step of her chariot, hopping onto the bar for a seat.

She wrinkles her nose, obviously not happy with my company. "What are you doing here?"

I answer with an easy-going smile, running my tongue along my teeth. "Nothing much, just observing people. The same as you."

Maysa half-smiles. "I saw your little show out there. Every eye was on you."

I groan internally. "I know, and I wish they'd stop. Nothing here to see, people. I mean," I start giggling again, "there _is_ something for them to look at, but… they don't have to be so perverted about it."

She raises her eyebrows. "That's just how guys are, too perverted to look anywhere but down."

Gasping in delight, I give her a shove. She is quick to push me back, but I'm quick on my feet. I roll over the side of the chariot, one hand grabbing the edge, and I rely on my biceps alone to swing my feet up to the other corner of the chariot. When I pop my head over the edge, Maysa is gawking at me.

"Where'd you learn to do that, the zoo? You look like a monkey!"

Winking and pulling myself over the edge, I hop off the chariot. "Ah, a good magician- or should I say monkey- never reveals her secrets." She looks intrigued. I plod forward. "So, Maysa, the real reason I came over here was to scout you out for an alliance. What d'you think, do I have a shot at being your ally?" I smirk. "You seem decent enough to get along with."

"And you as well," she replies dryly, sizing me up. "You know what? Sure, I'll give you a chance. Anybody else and I'd crumple them."

Shaking my head, I say, "You're so wiry, though!"

"And you're like an ape!"

We share a smile together- nothing major, since Maysa doesn't really seem the type to be all happy-go-lucky or playful like I usually am. More sarcastic and dry, if you know what I'm saying.

But ah, yes. Who knows? Perhaps our personalities will mesh well, drawing in other allies. Ezra, for one. He and perhaps the girl from Ten, or maybe the boys from Six and Eleven. They all could be threats if they applied themselves.

I wave goodbye to Maysa, smirking all the while, and hop into an elevator with Ezra and the boy from Three, Griff. It's silent as we go up in peace, every mind thinking on its own good accord.

When Maysa and I talked, she insulted me, which may or may not be part of her usual personality. Anyways, it was well played. Lucky for her, I'm feeling _generous_ today. She seems good enough for an ally, but then again, you never, ever know.

**Brux Redragon, District Seven**

Pressing the end of the cigarette to my lips, I draw in a shaky breath. Smoking is one of the few pleasures in my life that I still treasure.

Aspen watches me from the corner of the couch, curled up into a tight ball. "That's disgusting," she observes.

I snort. "Coming from the girl who got Reaped, I'm not too offended."

She wrinkles her nose, tugging her jacket over her head. "Just because I was Reaped doesn't mean I'm not tough. What if I was about to volunteer, huh?"

I laugh dryly, inhaling another round of the cigarette. "I'm sure you would have been more than lovely than, as well."

By that time, she looks confused, which I secretly delight in. I love messing with peoples' heads, getting to twist their words against them. It's like a short victory whenever I can.

Basil enters the room, gnawing on his bottom lip and holding a slim carrot in his hand. A health food junkie. I know their type not so well, as my family was one who would have eaten a rotten dog carcass.

"Aspen. Brux." He nods curtly before sitting down on the loveseat to our left. "I'm sure that my brother will be in any moment, so hold tight."

I smile smoothly at him. "You two can talk," I murmur. "You're mentoring Aspen, after all."

Basil replies with a tentative nod as well. "I'd like to include you as well," he says kindly.

"Then do so. I'm right here."

The two share an uncomfortable look before turning their attention back to me. "Are you two allying together, then?" Basil's voice is strained.

"Um-" Aspen begins just as I cut her off rudely.

"_Never_."

"Why are you so quick to judge?" retorts Basil.

I scowl, huffing out a ring of smoke. "No offense to my district partner, who I'm _positive_ is simply _lovely_, but there are more fish in the pond, namely the people known as Careers." I smirk. "I also happen to know that they've already kicked somebody out."

Obsidian enters the room with a concerned look on his face, chewing loudly with his mouth open. "The Careers have knocked somebody out of the ring?"

I nod.

He starts guffawing, rubbing a closed fist into my perfectly done hair. I slide away from him to lie down on the couch, eyebrows drawn together in disgust. He doesn't get to do that me. What is that, even, some weird Panem tradition? Have they affected Obsidian that much already? Gross.

"You might have a chance at getting in, little man." Obsidian grins. "Do you have any weaponry skills?"

I sigh lightly. This bulb's not the brightest. "Of course I do."

"Axes? Hatchets? Machetes?"

"You know, not everybody has to live up to the stereotype of using axes and all that crap. Most people never even work in the lumber yards." I consider the stub of my cigarette for a moment before snuffing it and cramming it inside my pocket. "I didn't."

"I did." Aspen's soft voice breaks through. I glance over at her and she smiles, tucking a short lock of hair behind her ear. "I… I worked at the forest around my neighborhood. Axes are like toys to me now."

I muffle a groan. Way to go and be _contradictory_, Aspen.

Basil points at her, lifting his thin eyebrows. "See? That's what I like to hear."

I scowl, shifting my position. My district partner is nothing but a suck-up, and I can't see how Basil isn't seeing right through her act. She's practically opaque.

"So you think that you both could get into the Careers?" Obsidian asks.

I stifle a snicker, waiting for Aspen's reply. I know that she'd be way too soft to even ask to try and enter their alliance. I'm interested to see how this turns out.

"Um…" her voice is reluctant. "Maybe Brux could ask for the both of us."

My throat tightens. "No offense or anything, but I'd prefer just to look after myself. _One_ victor, after all."

Truth be told, I never was one for responsibility. I could barely look after a wounded squirrel; how could I look after a girl who, truth be told, probably cowers under the light of the refrigerator? The Careers would crush her, eat her alive. There's no freaking way that Basil and Obsidian expect me to take care of her. I don't even like her.

Aspen looks at me with a disappointed stare. "I'll find my own allies, then," she mutters in a strangely tight voice.

"Good on you." Basil smiles, eyes twinkling. _Faker_, I surprise myself by thinking.

She murmurs an excuse to go to bed, and Basil lumbers off towards the bathroom. Soon, it's just Obsidian, who's sipping some bubbly water, and me.

"Uh, yeah, I gotta go to bed, too-" I begin.

"Stay."

I grimace slightly, avoiding his sharp gaze. "Yeah?"

"Just want to ask you something." Obsidian remembers to smile. "As your mentor, I find it hilarious that your last name is virtually 'Red Dragon'."

I smile sappily, glaring into his grinning face. "My parents were hippies," I spit out, lying. "Any other questions?"

Obsidian, chuckling, waves me away.

I stagger off to my room, fuming. I loathe it when people question me. It's always been like a slap to my face whenever that happened. I try to boost my confidence by other things, yet people find a way to chop my self-esteem down.

Because under this cocky, _stupid_ exterior? I'm just broken, nothing more to it.

**Cayley Torelli, District Eight**

Velvet and Velour have long since retreated to their rooms. At least, I think they have. They may still be lurking in the corners, listening to our escort yammer on about the gorgeous fabrics that our district brings in. I wouldn't know.

"And the ruffles on the taffeta number that I wore last year, oh, it was fabulous." Gladius sighs in ecstasy, plucking a hair off of his thin wings.

I catch a glimpse of my littler district partner, Tethys, sneaking around behind him with a small fork in hand. I try to muffle a smile, rather certain that this will end in the flailing of Gladius's arms and many, many shrieks.

As the three prongs of the fork tear into the papery material that form Gladius's suspenders, he screams obnoxiously.

"_Blasted, devil, wretched, demon boy_!" he screeches, thumbs hooked into the tight hoops of his sparkling blue pants. I can't hold back a throaty giggle as he darts out, his oversized trousers drooping at the back.

"Had to get him out somehow," Tethys says coyly, eyes flickering up to me to gauge my reaction.

"That's great!" I can't stop giggling. "The look on his face was priceless."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" he winks, his small mouth curving upwards into a smirk.

"Ahh," I sigh, throwing myself onto a loveseat and sprawling out. "If only we could do that with our other competitors. Simply rip out their suspenders and they'd run away, screaming."

_What a pity we can't do that,_ I think to myself bitterly. _It's rather hilarious how, if a Career were to flash a fork or something at a weaker tribute, they'd tremble in fear, when really, it should be the people here that go under the blade._

"So, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" Tethys perches on the arm of a chair, his legs curling up into a tight, comfortable little pretzel knot. "Don't you just _ah-dore_ their _fabulous_ iced teas and soups?"

Finding myself giggling uncontrollably again, I gasp a little for breath and reply. "Um, I think that it's luxurious, I guess."

He looks at me oddly, as if waiting for another answer.

"I miss home, though. District Eight." I feel robotic all of a sudden. It's something that I've grown quite accustomed to in my seventeen years of life- once being completely happy and gung ho, the next moment becoming tense and rigid, and the next being a green-eyed monster filled to the brim with fury. Mood swings are just a part of my daily life. My mother didn't help the fact much, either.

"Ah, yes." His beady brown eyes dart to the window, the pastel colors of the sunset sky mingling with the harsh yellows of the city lights. "District Eight will forever be our home."

"But there's hardly a chance we'll get to go home, right?" My throat betrays me by laughing again, this time nervously.

"Not so. I think that I have an excellent chance at winning." Tethys frowns over at me, eyebrows drawing together. "What makes you think that you're not good enough, Cayley?"

My giggling stops abruptly. "I'm small, for starters." It's true. I'm smaller even than Tethys, and I have little muscle on my brittle bones. "I have no weaponry skills, no plant skills, no nothing." If the arena was a giant clothing factory, though, we'd be set.

"Your body size means nothing." He smirks lightly. "And only six of the other tributes have weaponry skills, Cayley. Maybe the tributes from Seven and Nine. Don't worry, everybody else is in the same boat as you and I."

"I guess you're right." I huddle closer to the cushy pillows of the loveseat, feeling very small under the circumstances. It's just like home here. Even on the train, I had secretly hoped that here I'd get a chance to sort of reinvent myself, but it seems that I really can't escape the past.

"And besides." Tethys purposefully avoids eye contact with me, ducking his head. "I'm sure that you'll find yourself some great, worthy allies."

"You're right." I straighten myself out, flipping a lock of silky brown hair over my shoulder. "Hey, did you have anybody in mind?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "I was considering the two tributes from District Nine, or Five." No reasons given.

"Right," I nod. "Um, I was thinking District Twelve."

Tethys laughs dryly, shaking his head. "I like you, Cayley, so I'll tell you one thing. They're too weak. The boy's obviously brittle, scrawny, and the girl is downright skeletal. Both are probably from the poorer end of town, and-" he stops himself there, looking conflicted as he discreetly shakes his head.

"Oh," I reply, confused.

"But, yes. It's good to have an alliance plan so early on." Tethys gives me a brisk smile before bidding me goodbye and moving swiftly down the hall like the adorable, small guy that he is.

I watch his form retreat down into his bedroom, door shutting quietly, and I instinctively fold my limbs into myself, folding my arms across my chest and tucking my legs neatly underneath me in a kneeling position. Being small is the one good thing I'm good at.

Everything used to revolve around my small, broken family, and myself. The spotlight was constantly on me, as if calculating my next move. It's not that different here, actually. Once I get into that arena, there will be cameras all over me.

I wonder if I'll be a crowd favorite?

A smirk creeps onto my chin. Yeah, like that would ever happen. I was barely tolerated back in Eight, and what should make me think that anything would be different here?

My life is now a play; everything scripted out for me, and if I fail to deliver the line that the Capitol wants, the shepherd's crook will close in around my neck. Not the best comparison, but in somber reality, it's true.

**A/N: The Outsider by Marina and the Diamonds.**

**Lovelies! It's been so long! ._. Hopefully after my long break, I can find more time to write. But y'know, school and all that need to be figured out for me, so I'll write when I can. And all of those waiting on A Shot in the Dark, I can only say that I'm taking my time writing it. :p**

**Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the very first tribute chapter of Contrary! Dropping a review does not go unnoticed ;D And hey, if you review more, chances are your tribute will go farther. Everybody likes that, yes?**

**Okay, below is the alliance list, yeah? Everybody else is a loner, as of now, but that will very probably change. **

**Alliances: Careers minus Soren, Maysa+Maya**

**Question tiiiiime (:**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Favorite tributes as of now? (Chartwise?)**

**3. Who are you curious to hear from?**

**4. General thoughts on the chapter, along with 'how was my writing'? **

**Until next time ;D**


	5. Creep

**.**

_**I'm a creep. I'm a weirdo.**_

_**What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.**_

**Ellika "Ell" Mayes, District Three**

The morning awakens me rudely. Rather, it's Griff's youthful voice that pierces the silence, shattering any hopes I had of going back to sleep.

"_NO!"_

Curious, I poke my nose out the door, only to see Candor, Xandra, and Escort-Witch trying to spoon-feed Griff something that looks like oatmeal. Nothing of importance, why would he shriek?

"What's going on out there?" I call out sleepily, muffling a yawn.

"He's not taking any vitamins!" Xandra hollers out in frustration, anger laced in her voice.

"I don't want any of them! It's not like they could help me!" Griff scowls ferociously at the trio, and I can't help but smirk. He's already fighting back against the people that are trying to tend to him; biting the hand that feeds him, so to speak.

"Ellika, can you get out here, please?" Xandra, my mentor, calls. Her tone is surprisingly patient, considering that just a moment ago she was shrieking at me. I consider this.

"Nah!"

"_Please_, Ellika. You should be getting up, anyways."

_Ell_, I silently berate her, as I pull a sweater on and heave myself out of bed.

"Here." Candor hands me a small tablet containing some grainy tan stuff, just like the goop they're trying to force into Griff.

"What is it?" I look at it suspiciously. "Is it literally just some vitamins?"

Candor glances at the others before motioning me to the side. We step out onto the balcony, and I raise an eyebrow. "Why are we out here? And if you could answer my question, that would be _lovely_."

His voice is hushed. "I've examined them, Ellika- I mean, Ell. They're not regular nourishment vitamins. For whatever reason, they are similar in structure and-"

"Could you hurry it up?" I interrupt him. "I'm on a _rather_ tight schedule, I'm afraid. Breakfast and all that."

Patiently nodding, Candor then says, "All right. So you see, these vitamins are… weight gaining medications, containing numerous fattening spices and oils."

"Why are you giving them to us?" I ask, feeling stupid and confused.

"President Snow's orders." Candor shrugs. "Apparently, they're being given to each district, including the three – or four – Career districts. I have a feeling it will clue us in somewhat to the arena, but I've studied the past arenas, and I'm baffled. Nothing makes any sense."

I feel like shouting at him. He's a supposed genius! He doesn't _know_? This could mean life or death for me, a possible arena clue. And here this stupid old man is, scratching his head and _shrugging_?

"Ell, are you alright?" His eyebrows furrow. A slim arm reaches out to touch me. "You seem to be vibrating. Trembling, for a more appropriate word."

I recognize that symptom- it means that I'm slowly getting angrier and angrier, which is never good. Whenever it happened at home, my parents knew to exit the room, leaving me to cool down.

"I can't," I hiss out before storming off the balcony, my vision blurry from the combination of a deeply furrowed brow and angry tears. I make it to the couch before my knees start trembling, and I collapse onto it, pressing a small, furry pillow to my chest and clenching my teeth, shaking all over.

"Ellika, dear, are you-" Ping, the penguin-like escort, waddles into the room munching on a bagel when he cuts himself off. "No, you like to be called Ell, right? Oh-"

"Leave me alone," I snarl, my nails digging into my exposed thighs. "Get _away_ from me!"

His yellow-brown eyes widen and he moves closer, intrigued. "Ell, honey, I'd prefer if we all stayed friends here! Come, come, tell me what's bothering you!"

I shakily take a deep breath, my stomach churning and my throat feeling as if it were lined with acid. "You can't help me," I growl. "Nobody can help me. I- I'm a _monster_, get the hell away from me!"

Ping tuts, shaking his head. Bright, fake red hair flicks everywhere. "Ell, Ell, Ell, you're simply hormonal and moody from the original shock of being Reaped. Trust me, I've escorted for ten years now. Maybe if you talk it out, you'll feel better!"

_I can't,_ I silently shriek, struggling to maintain my sanity and pride. Clutching the small pillow to my chest, I start half-running, half-stumbling to my room. _I got mad when Candor said he didn't know something, Ping! If I can't control my emotions for something as stupid as that, I don't deserve anything! _Nobody_ can help me!_

Slamming the door behind me, feeling numb, I make my way to the cushy bed. Perching on the edge, staring out listlessly at the altered Capitol sunrise, I inhale once again, and then a third time.

"I-I'm Ellika," I murmur quietly, attempting to cool myself off. "I'm Ellika a-and I'm going to be f-f-fine…"

I know I can't have any allies, none. They'll either be too repulsed at my easily angered personality, or they'll run at once when they see what a monster my hot-headed nature can be. And I'm fine with that. I've accepted it.

When Candor asked me to ally with Griff, it was all I could do not to spit in his face. Not to be rude, but the difference between us is staggering, and if he can't realize it, then he's incredibly dumb. I'm smart and logical, which I learned from seventeen years of living in Three.

Brushing a damp lock out of my hair, exhaling once more. They can't see me like this, at my most vulnerable time. I _know_ that anger is the thin outline of my life, and it will eventually be my downfall.

**Braxton Malory, District Nine**

"This food is so good," I moan in delight as I shovel another spoonful of mushy red grapes into my mouth. Everything here is delicious, delightful. I can't see why the others – Maysa, Roland, and Olivander – are all glaring down at the food and at each other. They have no reason to.

"It's fine," mumbles Roland, my mentor.

Trying to contain a small burp as it bubbles up, I sit back in my chair, content. My gaze flits around the table. Maysa's fiddling with the end of her long ponytail, Roland is sullenly staring at his porridge, and Olivander is scowling darkly as he examines his arm.

"I'm just going to go down to the Training Center now, then?" It comes out more as a question than a statement.

"Fine by me," Roland says, nodding.

I smile lightly, trying in vain to brighten up the room, and walk to the elevator. Once I punch a button, the ride down is smooth and gives me plenty of time to take a couple of deep breaths, jogging in place to prepare for the big day ahead of me.

I'm going to try and form an alliance. I'm _positive_ that nobody will turn me down. After all, if I tell them that I'll protect them through thick and thin, who will they be to deny me?

A bright grin comes naturally onto my face as the elevator doors slide open, revealing a room that resembles a gigantic gymnasium, different stations scattered along the walls. In wonder I stare up at a rope course, situated in the middle. A trainer sits in a chair at the bottom, sizing the tributes up, and at the small wooden platform at the top, there's another one.

Ah, the tributes. I look eagerly at my competition, excitement flooding through my veins. There's the flexible girl from Five and her gawky district partner, a tall, burly dude from Eleven with his redheaded partner. A couple of the tributes seem to be my age. The boy from Eight is silently examining everybody, his eyes beady and bright. The girl from Six is hiding behind the tall, light-haired boy from her district. And then there's the boys from Three and Ten, but neither of them are down yet.

Silence seems to reverberate around the room as a slender trainer on a pedestal watches over everybody, the bright yellow words '_Head Trainer'_ on the back of her black jumpsuit. Observing her carefully, I watch as she tilts her head back, a smile gracing her lips whenever a new tribute enters. Her nose is a bit crooked, and her ears are flat. She's _not_ perfect.

When the last pair enters – the sheepishly shrugging duo from Seven – the Head Trainer shifts her position, mouth opening to begin. "Welcome, tributes!" Her voice is muffled, somewhat jumbled. "I expect that you all slept well. You'll need sleep in order to complete these days of training, after all."

No response.

"In this room is the weapon – and person – that will eventually kill you. No getting around it, everybody but one is going to collapse at one point." She clears her throat, obviously aware of how blunt she's being. "Every man must die, after all."

Another stretch of silence. One person coughs.

The woman finishes up her speech shortly, telling us the basic rules of the Training Center and wishing us all an education-packed, robust day.

It's _time_.

Eagerly I approach the first person I see – the boy from Ten, his oval-shaped head shaking his head at something his district partner is saying. He'll be easy to convince. He seems rather submissive.

"Hello," I greet, gaining a quick smile on his part. "I'm Braxton!"

"I'm Cade Bennett, District Ten." The boy speaks with a defined accent, his vowels twanged.

"I know it's too early to ask for allies," I say, trying out a wink and a beam, "but would you like to go around with me? Scope out the different stations?"

"Yes!" His eyes light up. "I'd _love_ to!"

Cade seems really genuine, something I can later use to my advantage. But until now, it's not every man for himself. For now, we have to help each other, discover our unknown strengths.

He starts walking briskly to a knife station, and feeling rather left out and feeling out of the loop, I stride after him. Cade's already testing out a short, curved knife, swishing it through the air with a funny expression on his face.

"That's bad," I find myself saying, taking the knife out of his hands and handing him a new, longer and straighter one. The tip is slightly diagonal. "This one's called a bowie knife. I see it used around my district a lot, usually to chop up grain stalks in bakeries and factories and such."

Cade squints for a moment, like he's not sure whether I'm lying or telling the truth. But then his eyes revert to normal, and a slow smile spreads over his chin. "Does it work? Is it easy to use?"

A rush of pride comes easily to me as I hurry over to Cade, showing him how to hold it and everything, even though the trainer's right there. It feels good to help him. It makes me feel needed.

A couple minutes later, as I'm selecting my own knife for a second round of dummy-sparring, Cade bounds up to me, his face contorted in sheer glee.

"It works, Braxton!" he cheers. "You're right, the bowie knife is the perfect knife!"

Happily I nod, clapping my hands slowly and beaming. "I told you, Cade. It's perfect for your body form and such."

A sly, yet bashful expression brushes over him. "Um, Braxton?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to b-be my ally?" He blushes.

I can't help but hold my clenched fist out for a fist-bump. "Of _course_ I would, Cade. I can't think of a better ally to have."

**Kiera Brennan, District Eleven**

Fiddling with the end of my straggly braid, I glance silently around the room. Everybody's either training or mingling, even Cole, who's currently at the weight-lifting section. Even he's found his place, and I didn't think he could, to be honest.

"Girl?" A gruff voice behind me makes me whirl around. "You, uh, need to find a station?"

"What if I'm not going to?" my own voice sounds nasal, strange. "There's nothing for me to do here."

The trainer, bulky with reddish hair, sighs. "Look, I don't make the rules, but every tribute needs to look busy with something, 'lright?"

I frown slightly, getting up from my hunched position on the floor. "I suppose I could do that," I drawl. "It's not like I'm a ghost or anything. I can do a lot more than moan and haunt places."

Leaving a befuddled trainer in my wake, I glide off to find a station that I know I can be good at- poisons. I dabbled with them back home for a bit, admiring how a simple leaf or berry can bring even the strongest of men to his knees. I'm sure that I can find some more interesting bits of information concerning poison to bring to the table, maybe tell a trainer about it. I can impress somebody.

I arrive at the table, next to the small, meek girl from Six. Immediately recognizing the lethal vine-reed leaf, I reach for the stem.

"Girl, girl, whoa!"

Sighing heavily, I swivel to face the frantic tanned trainer, waving her arms sporadically as she darts towards me from a while away. "What the hell?"

"That's a poisonous plant!" she spits out. "You need to wear a pair of gloves!"

Next to me, the girl from Six squeaks in happiness and presses a button on a screen. I glance over to see that she was stumped over was whether the vine-reed plant was poisonous or not. Sly.

"I know," I reply. "I've seen the plant before."

She stops her frantic breathing to cock her head, eyes wide. "Wh-what do you mean? There's almost no more species of these in the wild!"

I smirk slightly, relishing in the fact over how happy I was when I found my first vine-reed plant, then cultivated it to grow further. "District Eleven simply has a wide variety of plants, you know."

The trainer huffs a moment more. "So you're from Eleven, eh? I think I remember you… red hair, pale skin… you're the girl who screamed at the Reaping!"

I blush slightly. It was a moment of desperation and triumph both, and it annoys me that people remember me for that menial reaction. "You could say that. Or you could say that it was my battle cry, either one."

She smiles slightly. "Have fun mixing poisons, hon. You need any help?"

"I have this completely under control."

The woman moves behind the counter and I get to work, snapping on some rubbery gloves just to humor her as I grab a glass beaker. I splash in a quick dash of water, murmuring my recipe under my breath as I work. All of the materials on this table, I know about. I've used them all.

I'm aware of the two pairs of eyes watching me, the trainer and the small girl, as I grind up the final ingredient- some Glady's Shade roots, their purplish veins bulging with each stab of the wooden grinder. Finally, with a small flourish, I empty the dish into the beaker and watch in fascination as the brownish-yellow concoction bubbles. Delicately placing the glass tube on the table, I listen with pride as the trainer gapes and compliments me.

"Th-that's so advanced!" she gasps. "It took me _months_ to perfect that concoction, and yet you did it in ten minutes!"

A smile drifts across my face. She keeps babbling on, and I nod, a bit overwhelmed by the intense praising. Though it is nice to feel appreciated, something that wasn't exactly a factor in my childhood.

When your parents have to tell your _siblings _to stay away from you, you know you're a monster.

And that's all I'll ever be, really. The misfit that nobody really wants to socialize with, the reject that's always hunched over her work. A… a monster.

It's all I'll ever amount to, anyways.

Suddenly downtrodden and gloomy, I nod as a goodbye and walk away, fingers tracing over the '11' on my shoulder. I don't even deserve to wear this, to be called a tribute. I should die. At least I'll be able to be with the spirits, with the ghosts of the other rejected members of society. _They'll_ be able to sympathize with me.

I try my luck at the spear station, but quickly give up once I realize that it's being ruled by the girl from Two, Adra or whatever her name is. At specialty weapons, most of the other Careers are milling around, each with a different weapon in their hands.

The only unpopulated station seems to be the fire-making one, with a sullen-looking trainer and a load of kindling at his feet, just waiting to be used. Not looking for any human interactions at the moment, I stroll towards him casually, purposefully looking at the ceiling.

He doesn't say anything as I slowly begin building up a pile of thin strands of bark and some sort of fluffy plant, and he doesn't say anything when I rub two stones together to form a small spark. Before I know it, a tiny fire's begun to burn within the wispiest of the kindling.

Triumphant, I sit back on my heels and watch it for a moment. Even this, the small orange flame, reminds me of home, of how many rituals I've done by the dim light of a candle, the tiny flame stretching to the heavens.

Home.

The word makes me sigh. Will I ever see home again? And if I do come back to see home, will I actually be accepted for who I really am?

Or will it be like before, with me being treated as nothing but a monster?

**Ezra Jefferson, District Five**

Maya's chipper face pops up in the corner of my vision as I slowly run my fingers over the handle of the spear. I can't help but crack a grin as she makes a face, sticking her tongue out and pulling her eyelids down unnaturally.

"What's up, Ezra?"

"Nothing," I drawl, giving her a shy smile. "I'm just looking over the spears, you know?"

"Ah, the weapons." She sighs. "C'mon, Ezra, I thought you were better than this. You didn't even look for me, totally against what Kassidy and Scarlett advised, dude!"

I blink for a moment, temporarily dazed. "You have Maysa."

"That doesn't mean I don't want you for an ally." Maya offers me a smile. "You're nice enough, and I'm pretty sure you aren't going to off me in my sleep."

"S-Seriously?" my heart flutters. If Maya wants me as an ally, then I can get much further than if I'm a loner, which is what I had originally expected. And plus, she's right- Scarlett and Kassidy did tell us that if we paired up, we'd be a so-called 'dynamic duo'. Well, with Maysa here, perhaps it's more of a dynamic trio.

"Of course, Ezra."

She offers her arm to me and I take it, positively giddy with excitement. I don't even stop to wonder if she thinks my sudden glee is weird. _I have an ally_. She wanted me first. I'm actually appreciated, not looked down upon!

Maya leads me over to Maysa, the brunette girl examining some brownish shell of a bug. She glances up. "Who's that?"

"My district partner, Ezra!" Maya grins, and I offer Maysa a shy smile.

"You didn't even think to ask me?" says Maysa bitterly, her nose wrinkling up as she looks me over. "I mean, sure, he's probably cool and all, but seriously, Maya? What if I don't want another ally?"

"I don't think it'll be a problem," Maya fights back, her light tone growing more and more serious.

While the bickering happens, my and Maya's arms somehow untwine from each other. Feeling lonely and very unwanted, I seek a spot a couple of tables over, trying to hide the growing lump in my throat as I run my fingers over a metallic green insect. I don't even glance at the notecard that dictates whether it's edible or not. My fingers tremble, and before I know it, the fragile green shell cracks under my tight grip.

Staggering backwards, my pulse quickening, I swivel on my heel. I hear the trainer's voice calling out to me, but I don't stick around to listen to her. I pick up the pace as I stride briskly over to a random station.

Maces.

Trembling, my fingers grasp the rubbery gripper on the handle of a blackish mace. Seizing it with ease, noting how it doesn't falter under my faulty grip, I swing it.

It collides with the tanned torso of a dummy, shattering some wire framework inside of it. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I just stare at the dummy for a moment. I just absorb the damage I've done, how for once I have control of a situation. It was under my hands that the dummy broke.

Shuffling my feet as I move to a new model, I swing my arms, bringing the mace with it, and allow it to smack into the rubber coating of the dummy- though perhaps '_smack'_ is an inadequate word. It rather swung into it, kind of taking the exterior skin with it, and allowing the wire frame inside this one to screech and crack as well.

I stand back and just survey it for a moment, reveling in the fact that I did something as cool as that.

As I continue down the line, allowing the weapon to crash into the tan-colored models, I start thinking. Not light pondering, but one-track mind, hardcore thinking. About my past, mainly. About the bullies that used to rule my life, until they found out that I could snap a nose with finesse. About my mother, and father, and even Torque. I wish we hadn't fallen apart. All I want to do is hug him close and apologize.

Even _Swallow_. Does she even know that she's the reason I flunked math?

A goofy smile drifts across my face and I nearly drop the mace. Crash-landing back to reality, I fumble for the handle.

"_Ezraaaaa! Come here!"_

Maya's screech reaches my ears and I perk my head up, eyes flickering around the room. I locate her in the same spot she was before, next to a visibly simmering Maysa. Obediently I set down my mace and trot over to her, hopeful.

"You're in the alliance, dude!" she grins and lifts her hand up for a slap. My stomach explodes into jillions of happy butterflies, and I reach down and clap our hands together, creating a brisk sound of skin on skin.

I start to reach my hand over to Maysa before realizing she's shooting daggers at me with those steely eyes. Sweat pricks from beneath my arms and on my palms. I shove the hand down into the baggy pocket of my jumpsuit, cheeks burning.

"I'm not happy about this," Maysa hisses. "You're lucky that I need a strong ally."

Shame disappears, rapidly replaced by white-hot anger. I stand up tall, eyeing Maysa up. Knobby elbows, crossed at her chest. A pointed nose, ready to stick into your business. I flex my fingers, considering the outcomes if I were to throw a punch.

"Ezra, come on." Maya rolls her eyes, grabbing at my wrist. "Maysa just needs a bit of time to chill, is all. It's alright, man, you'll grow on her, I'm sure of it!"

As I look back to the irritated Maysa, I can only curse a couple times under my breath and pray that Maya's right, that for once I can be acknowledged as an equal human, not a gross, misunderstood bully.

The lunch bell rings and as Maya tugs me towards the kitchen area, I follow, feeling like a docile dog. All I really want is to be wonderful. Maybe Maya can help me with that…

**Eidra Nevett, District Two**

I grin as Carisa slides onto the bench next to me, shadowed by Juno.

"You got that brownish meat goop?" I giggle. "God, it looked so gross!"

Carisa considers this for a moment before laughing as well, scraping it to the edge of her tray with a fork. "The lady just slopped it on my plate. Didn't have time to pull away."

I raise my eyebrows, teasing her. "You'll definitely need those lightning-quick reflexes in the arena."

"Why, thank you for noticing!" She immediately falls into the playfulness of the conversation, her bright eyes twinkling. "I-"

"Are you lovely ladies done with the chit-chat?" Merritt's sorrowful voice breaks into our conversation, his deep eyes searching mine. "I… I think we should use this lunchtime for planning and such."

I feel Carisa's eyes on me, and my gaze flickers over to her. "Um…" she begins, and I cut in.

"Sorry, Merritt." I wink. "We're discussing much more important matters than strategies."

Inside, I know that's a joke; I mean, what could be more important than the Games? Nothing, _n-o-t-h-i-n-g_. At least that's what I've been told to think. _Whenever I train is the one time I'm serious about something, my mind focused solely on the prize of getting the spear splitting through the plastic exterior of the dummy or inside the bright red ring of the target. _That's what I say, that's what I want the people to think.

But truthfully, to be honest, I'm _not_ the most dedicated person here. I'm not a girl who's done nothing but train for seventeen years of her life. In reality, training was but a hobby for me. And when I found out that it was something I was truly good at, that's when it became more interesting.

Yes, though, life does set in at the most unfortunate times.

I glance up as Merritt begins to rant quietly, glaring at me with those ferocious blackened eyes of his. "You're really being quite stupid, you know," he hisses.

"I don't mind." I smile easily, tossing a lock of my hair over a shoulder. "Who are you to judge, anyways?"

Carisa rushes to my defense. "Yeah, Merritt, you should just back off!"

Wraith and Juno remain silent as Merritt rises to his feet, his scowl becoming more and more pronounced as he growls out, "You two girls are lucky that I kept you in this alliance. Worst comes to worst, you'll be holding knives at each other's throats."

It's so hard not to laugh at him, because honestly, he's hilarious. He thinks he's, like, the leader of the pack? He needs to think again.

"Awh," I croon out, trying to muffle my growing giggles. "Does somebody need a tranquilizer?"

He looks enraged, and Carisa eggs me on. "Or some sleeping pills?" She collapses in laughter.

"Um, I'm not sure that you two should be saying stuff like that to him." Wraith speaks up, his voice hushed. Those brown eyes of his connect with me, genuine worry evident in them.

This is big for Wraith; last night, he barely spoke at all, only opting to pipe up when there were big issues being discussed. Every time he spoke, it was a bloody good piece of advice or an interesting tidbit, nothing extra or unnecessary. If he has to tell me to back off of Merritt, should I listen?

One glance at the grinning Carisa makes me screech with glee, shaking my head.

"I'm sorry that you can't hold your own, Merritt," I tell the enraged boy, shaking my head in mock sorrow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Carisa and I have some more integral things to attend to. Like, whether braids or high ponytails are better!"

I turn away from Merritt, thus giving him a little time to cool down, and immediately start talking. Our food lies on the table, ignored.

"I love high ponies," I confess, jabbing a finger at my hairdo.

Carisa nods, eyes wide. "You know, I used to like braids, but I agree with you there!"

Look at us; the most deadly and important people in the Games, and we're discussing our favorite hair styles. I giggle at the thought as my hands absent-mindedly weave through Carisa's hair.

"Hey, so can I ask something?" An idea pops into my head before I think of anything else.

"Shoot!"

"What was up with you and Soren last night?" I bite my lip, afraid I might have hit a nerve, but out of nowhere I begin talking again. "Are you two, like, close or something?"

Carisa's shoulders, erect with excitement, promptly deflate. "No," she murmurs gloomily. "Like I said, he's just an idiot from my past. Nothing big, nothing to reflect on."

I purse my lips, wrapping my fingers around a thick lock of her chestnut hair. "Actually," I muse, "didn't you say that he had destroyed something dear to you? In your past or something?"

A nervous laugh bubbles out of her mouth. "We'll talk later," she says tensely, "after all the listening ears are gone."

"We can still hear you," Merritt snarls.

"Exactly my point." Carisa cranes her neck to try and look at him.

"Shut up, Merritt," I chirp.

A tanned hand snakes up to my side, outstretched for a high-five. I slap it with as much force as I have, battling the impending beam.

The rest of lunch wasn't too important, simply a bunch of more silly banter between Carisa and I, a few random burps and giggles from Juno, gloomy stares from Wraith, and of course, the pessimistic musings from Merritt. And yet, as everybody gets up in unison to dump their trays, I can't help but feel amazed.

_This is it_, I think to myself, the corners of my lips curving upwards. _This is the dream team, and I'm a leading member in it. This is the life, certainly!_

**Kinton Machek, District Twelve**

I spoon a blob of green gelatin into my mouth, eyes darting around the room as I do so. It appears there's only three alliances so far. Of course, the almighty Careers, already babbling away. The boy from District One sits at a table on his own, looking dejected as he plays with his mashed potatoes. Interesting.

The boys from Nine and Ten sit together, chattering and laughing away. I'm happy for them. They're both kind of small, and definitely younger. They deserve to bond together.

And then there's a group of three- the girl from Nine, Maysa, and the two from Five, Ezra and Maya. While the two girls murmur quietly, Maya with vibrancy and Maysa with a snarky look on her face, Ezra pokes at his beef and glances around the room with a small smile on his mug.

Everybody else is either sitting alone or with their district partner- much like Haven and I. We wouldn't be sitting here by choice – I consider Haven to be pretty sarcastic and all-around mean, actually – but Grey advised us to. She said it shows bonding and loyalty and strength. I don't get it, really- how can a simple sitting position dictate all that?

"This stuff is gross," moans Haven, jabbing her fork at her own gelatin. "It's too gushy and all that crap."

"It's awesome," I say, quick to defend the gushy food. "We never got anything like this back in Twelve."

"Exactly my point," she sighs. "They have all this pretentious junk here, but people are starving to death back in Twelve. We're lucky to lick a couple drops of fish blood off of a fish skeleton."

I shudder. "Not everybody in Twelve was like that," I mutter quietly.

Haven immediately sticks her face in mine, scowling. "You mean that your family was rich?!"

"No, no, no!" I shut her down immediately. "We were better off, though. I mean, we still lived in poverty, in a hut of a house, but we weren't completely starving. Most of the time there was cold sausage and lettuce and stuff like that."

"Yeah, well, some of us aren't as lucky as you," Haven whispers quietly, staring into the jiggling mess on her tray. She's suddenly a lot more muted.

I have a sudden image in my mind that I forgot about all until now- I've seen Haven before the Reaping, just once. It was on my way to the market with my father. We were passing the landfill site, just beyond one of the newest coal mines, and I saw a dirt-splotched, blond-haired girl with deadened eyes. I wasn't able to place her until now, now that she wears that same defeated expression.

Maybe she's not mean at all, just misunderstood.

I offer her a shy smile as I push around my peas in a separate section of the tray. Should I ask her to be allies? I doubt anybody else would want to ally with us. District Twelve doesn't really have much to offer, with a skeletal-looking blond and me, the baby-faced guy who looks like he could struggle if he tries to hold five pounds.

There's really nothing to lose. It's not like, if she rejects me, we'll be stuck with each other anyways. I'm pretty sure that the arena will be large. Every other arena has been, after all.

"Excuse me?" I say, glancing at her. She hums in response, bringing a spoonful of gelatin to her lips. "Would you, um, like to be allies, Haven?"

The spoon wavers in the air as she turns her head to the side. The straggly blonde bun, just below her left ear, jiggles as her shoulders bob up in a shrug. "I really don't care, but I care more about my well-being than the fact that I'm going to need an ally, to be honest. I'm gonna ask Grey."

"We're district partners," I remind her, feeling a bit put-off.

Her nose wrinkles, and she bites back. "So? For all I know, you could be a murderer already, and Grey's seen it all. She'll know what to do."

"I-I promise I'll be loyal!" I sit up straight on the bench, my spine rigid.

"Promises are unpromising." Haven smirks, scratching her shoulder. "Come on, Kinton, put yourself in my shoes for once."

I brush a lock of dark hair out of my eyes. "Haven!" My voice cracks.

The kids from Three glance over with interest, the girl with heavy eyebrows and the boy with a soft smile. I try to ignore them as I prod Haven with the handle of my spoon. "Come on, you know that Grey will approve."

"Why are you so eager to get an answer?" Haven scowls, her mood suddenly dark.

"I-I like knowing my situation," I reply, crossing my arms and feeling childish. "Everybody does. Plus, if we're allies, we can train together and learn each others' strengths."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she says in a low voice, looking at me under a fringe of light hair. "You'll know my strengths, you'll abandon me in the arena, and then, later, you'll come back to bite me in the butt. It happens all the time, Kinton, and I need to know that I can stay rooted!" Her glare doesn't lift.

I slump down on the bench. "Alright," I say softly. "But promise me, Haven, as soon as you ask Grey and she says yes-"

"If she says yes. Don't get your hopes up, idiot."

I clench a fist, but even I know that I could never do any damage with it. "Fine, if she says yes. You promise that you'll ask her? And that you'll go through with it?"

A sigh emerges from her thin lips. "_Fine_. I… I promise."

**Juno Verdet, District Four**

"It's like you're cutting a slice out of air!" chirps Eidra as she swings the rapier forward, thus creating a satisfying slicing sound. "Like, literally! It could be a piece of pie or something!"

"It's so cool," giggles Carisa.

It's kind of saddening to know that they're already best friends, leaving me as the obvious third wheel. Eidra's the peppy, upbeat leader while Carisa's the giggling drone, willing to do whatever she asks. It's odd, definitely. When I first met Carisa, she seemed kind of domineering, detached. Something about Eidra and her must have clicked.

Either that, or they were immediately repulsed by me. There's no definite reason, but I have a slight feeling that my tendencies to go with the flow affected them. They both seem the type to have to take action.

Merritt and Wraith, they're _fine _nothing wrong with them that I can see so far, but both seem kind of sullen to me.

"Have you ever tried a trident, Juno?" Eidra questions. Her brown eyes are sparkling.

I shrug nonchalantly. "They're fine. I love how they have three or more prongs. Easy to hit your target, yeah?"

"If you want, we can go over there."

I nod. "Whatever floats your boat."

The two girls exchange amused glances, but I don't pay them any more attention. I glide out in front of them, red hair flipping just beyond my shoulders as I stride swiftly. Taking the lead, so to speak.

The trainer, a tall man with a black buzz-cut, immediately recognizes me with a grin. I've spent enough time over here; he probably knows everything about me by now. I greet him with a mellow wave and a small quirk of my lips. "Three tridents, please."

He complies obediently. After I place my own trident in my hands, turning it over and quickly admiring the prongs, I glance back at my other allies. Both of them are standing around, looking rather awkward, really. Carisa's trying to hold it like a spear or a lance, and obviously the shaft is too wide for that. Eidra's just clutching it with both hands, gaze flickering over the silver body.

"We're not doing it right, are we?" Carisa asks, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckle a bit, moving over to her and instructing the both of them on the best technique to grasp it. They're both fairly quick learners, and before I know it, we're all standing side by side as we thrust the tridents into the tanned targets.

"This is tough work," pants Carisa. "I don't get how you can…"

"Manage this," Eidra finishes her sentence with a light laugh. "Yeah, this must've taken years to master. You've sure got patience, Juno."

Patience? I've never been called patient. Idle, sure. Offhand, definitely. But never patient.

"Gee, thanks." I don't mean to sound blunt, but that's apparently what Eidra takes it as, with a slightly confused and hurt expression.

We practice in silence for about ten more minutes, with Carisa fumbling with the handle of the trident repeatedly and Eidra more often than not throwing her hands up in exasperation. I'm obviously the only competent one in this trio.

"Let's break for a bit," suggests Carisa.

"I'm down with that," I reply, brushing an imaginary bead of sweat off of my forehead. It wasn't really strenuous, but more to humor the duo.

Eidra and Carisa immediately select a spot just ten feet away from the trident station, sitting knee-to-knee. I sit down across from them, shoving my hands into the baggy pockets that the jumpsuit provides.

"Do you guys want to see my token?" Carisa asks softly, as she does the same. I'm quick to nod, watching with eagle eyes as her hand moves around her pocket gently.

It withdraws, and Eidra and I both lean forward eagerly. The trinket in her hand appears to be a small, sky blue stuffed animal. No, not a stuffed animal. More of a figurine, with a white thread looped around its soft blue tummy.

"Cute," Eidra comments, reaching her hand out so she can touch it.

"What's the significance?" I ask, kind of suspicious. Of all the lovely trinkets to choose from – necklaces, pictures, tubes of lip balm – she chooses a small statuette?

Carisa holds it closely, eyes fixated on it as her fingers run over it. "It was supposed to go on my baby's mobile."

"You have a kid?" Eidra gasps in delight. "What's their name?"

Avoiding her gaze, Carisa purposefully looks down at the ground. I'm pretty sure I notice her eyes misting up in silent tears, which provokes a silent, collective gasp around the group. I've never really been serious with a guy enough to even think about being a mother, but I can only imagine how terrible it must feel to lose a child.

"We hadn't picked out a name yet," Carisa sighs. She gently loops the thread around her index finger. "Do you two have tokens?"

"No point," I say, trying to battle back a small belch. "Anything that reminds me of my past is off-limits, for here, at least. I have memories, that's enough."

"Yeah, that's pretty much my excuse as well." Eidra shrugs, though there's a certain doubt in her eyes that makes me do a double take.

"At least I have my best friend right beside me, right?" Carisa laughs lightly, pulling Eidra to her side, and I have to force myself to look away purposefully. I can't go off, feeling bad for Carisa when it's obvious that she doesn't like me too much. And plus, she's a competitor. A rather strong one.

But I've already discovered a weakness of hers, even if she didn't know when she was giving it away. She has an extremely soft spot for the unborn child of hers. Who knows? Maybe it could be an integral snippet of information to have sometime or another.

I'll just have to be observant, yeah, even though I'm not the best at it.

**Halcyon Chae, District Six**

"Is anybody working here?"

I look up to see the face of the boy from One. Oh, the rejected Career. I shake my head, not bothering to give him any precious conversation.

"I'm Soren."

I nod.

"I-I'm from District One."

I _know_ you are. I frown, looking over my shoulder at the towering boy, giving him another nod.

"You're from District Six, right?"

Clenching my fists in annoyance, I nod, eyes flickering over the screen in a vain attempt to ignore him. I can definitely tell why he was booted out of the Careers. This guy's irritating as hell, plus he's not a looker, either.

"Hel-key-yond, right?"

"Halcyon," I correct him automatically, my voice gruff. I don't need this, I don't need to listen to this annoying guy ramble on about how exotic my name is. His name's crappy, too. _Sore-wren_. "Get it right or leave."

"Sorry, um, Halcyon." Soren nods and moves next to me, our shoulders brushing briefly as he opens a screen of his own. Virtual edible plants, the perfect station to go to if you want knowledge but are too much of a coward to try out the real thing. Yep, this guy fits the bill.

We ignore each other for a couple more minutes as our eyes flicker across the screens, fingers jabbing at the buttons. I complete the last question and my score pops up; a 78%, which is much lower than all of my other scores. I don't _get_ it. I've worked hard, worked half the day at this station, and already I'm losing some knowledge?

"Just perfect," I mumble, slamming my hand down on the screen and staining it a rainbow of technical purplish colors.

"I can't help you there," Soren comments, looking at my score.

I wrinkle my nose, a hand flying to my hip in sudden defense. "I don't think you can. You're probably a failure at weapons and all that crap, too."

Really, I don't mean it. I'm sure he's fairly competent, yadda, yadda, but firstly, he's annoying me. Secondly, he's being cocky and saying that he can help me. I'm not one to beg for help; I'm perfectly independent… I'm pretty sure, at least…

"I'm not." He looks hurt. "Well, I guess you're right. Weapons fall through my hands. I prefer to use my body as a weapon, though. Much easier to take somebody down if you have no supplies, right?"

I nod warily. "Yeah, good for you." I turn back to my screen, poking the '_Start Over'_ button.

"Hey, um, Halcyon?"

I turn to Soren, glaring. "What do you want?"

"I was, uh, wondering something." Soren looks at his screen, fidgeting with his hands. "You're looking for an ally, yes or no?"

"No. I'm an independent man." The lie comes easily to my lips, and, happy with the fib, I lick my pinkie and slick an eyebrow back, feeling sort of… _content_ with myself.

"Oh." That shuts him down immediately, but he seems to get an idea. "Would you be open to having me as an ally? Admit it, Halcyon, nobody else would want me."

"That's the truth," I mumble, not giving him an answer quite yet. Do I even want an ally? It's the truth when I say that I haven't even thought about it. They could just cause me more pain down the road. Look what happened when I grew too attached to Hyeon, I was shattered beyond repair. On the other hand, there's basically no way I could get attached to this annoying guy. Should I…?

"Will you?" His eyes plead with me. "I-I'll repay you as best as I know how, I promise!"

_Do something crazy for once_. The phrase dances around my head as I stare at him, my gaze unwavering. _What could _possibly_ go wrong_?

"Let me sleep on it," I hear myself saying, and Soren's head whips up with great vivaciousness.

"You're positive? You'll think about it?" His voice cracks, and for a moment, he sounds just like a little boy.

"Yeah," I mutter, holding my gaze on the grey concrete floor. "Just leave me alone for the rest of the day. But I keep my promises, I promise that I'll consider it, alright?"

"Alright!" I don't have to look at him to know that he's grinning.

He leaves me without another, leaving just me and my thoughts brewing. I watch him leave for a moment, his towering form plodding along the grey ground.

Would an ally be good to have?

I frown slightly as I jab the screen again. Maybe it could be nice, to have somebody to fall back upon and trust, for somebody to have my back. But this is a rejected Career. What if something's really wrong with him? They didn't push him away for no reason, no doubt. Is he a sadist? He didn't seem like one, not at all. He actually seemed more… meek and clement, than anything. Perhaps he's too kind for their tastes.

But our relationship is teetering in my hands. In this sort of game, I'm the leader. I can choose the outcome of this, I can decide whether to make his day or crush him. And however despicable that I think I am, maybe for once I can be merciful… and have a friend? Perhaps?

I sigh, going back to my screen. This won't lie, it never has.

I sort of zone out as my fingers work over the glassy surface, pressing buttons and overall, boring myself to the maximum extent. But I can't quit. I have to think ahead- Soren must have trained with weapons and such a bit at District One, right? They're practically glued to their diamond-encrusted swords and such, I bet. He probably won't know a duck's-foot-root from a katniss root, and when he fails, I'll be there to identify it.

_Look at me._ I frown. I'm already talking as if we're allies, how stupid.

And yet… I can't help but yearn and wonder, what would happen if I said _yes_?

**A/N: Creep by Radiohead. **

**Ahh, the lovely first day of training. ;) Though I rather don't like these chapters, I guess they're fun to see as the characters develop and all that kind of stuff. First glimpses are important, yada yada yada. **

**Anyways, I don't have too much to say. Oh, I do! :) As we all know, school has fallen upon us. Grrrr. That means fewer updates, I'm not home as much, that whole song and dance. Lovely. But at least I'm here now, right? And at least you can drop a review to keep me motivated? ;D Though I am serious- it doesn't go unnoticed, plus, they motivate me to keep your tribute around for longer. Ah, yes, even a simple '**_loved it omg keep going pls I like so and so'_** is good for me if you're running low on time and just want to let me know you're there- though, of course, I appreciate the long-winded ones ten times as much! xD**

**Alliances: Careers, Maya+Maya+Ezra, Braxton+Cade**

**Alrighty, cap'n, questions :3**

**1. Thoughts on each POV?**

**2. Favorite tributes as of now (Chartwise)?**

**3. Who are you curious to hear from?**

**4. General thoughts? How was my writing? :)**

'**Till next time ;)**


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